Crepuscular rays
by wedontstandachance
Summary: BETHYL Beth is a girl who has lost virtually everyone she loves, and is afraid to let anyone else get too close. Daryl is a guy who is just biding his time until his brother gets out of jail, and doesn't think anyone could ever care about him. Somehow, with a lot of trial and error, they may just change each others minds.
1. one

**Crepuscular rays **/krɨˈpʌskjʉlər/ n: rays of sunlight that appear to radiate from the point in the sky where the sun is located, streaming through gaps in the clouds.

* * *

><p>From the back of the diner, three dings of a bell were followed by a rich, male voice calling, "Order up! Table three!"<p>

Beth Greene straightened up and blew a piece of hair out of her face that had fallen loose from her pony tail. She finished refilling Mr. Grady's cup of coffee and flashed him a smile before spinning on her heel and heading in the direction of the kitchen window behind the diner counter.

Bob was standing on the other side of the wall in the kitchen, frying potatoes on the stove for home fries, and singing show tunes under his breath.

You wouldn't have guessed it by looking at him, but he was a big fan of musicals. He'd been a member of the drama club in high school, and Musical Theater had even been his college major. He'd told Beth once that he'd wanted to be on Broadway. He probably still did, which was a shame because he sure was talented. He'd probably have been able to make it big. Too bad he was stuck here in Georgia working as a cook in a diner, with a sick kid at home, and more medical bills than he and his wife Sasha knew what to do with.

Beth also liked to sing, and she was pretty good if she did say so herself, but she'd never had any plans to do anything with it. It was just something she did for herself to pass the time and to fill the silence.

No, unlike Bob, Beth had never planned to do anything special with her voice. She'd had other aspirations. There was a time when she'd planned on becoming a veterinarian and working alongside her father. But like Bob, she was working in this diner because life had had to go and mess everything up.

Life was a bastard like that.

On the window sill sat two orders of pancakes for table three.

Beth hefted the plates onto her arms. "Thanks Bob," she chirped, flashing him a smile.

He spared her a quick glance, his ever-present smile bright on his face, before focusing back on his work.

She'd have to give it to Bob, for someone with so much on their plate she'd never known him to let it bring him down. She wished she was more like that sometimes.

Heading back out onto the diner floor, Beth had to skirt around Tara, who was leaning against the counter and having one of her usual fights with her best friend Eugene about some video game; about techniques or story lines or something. Beth didn't know. It was always something different everyday which made it hard to keep up. She didn't really care about gaming anyway.

Eugene was sitting in his usual seat, the last in the row of stools that sat against the counter on the right side. His laptop was open in front of him, and he was jabbing his finger at something on the screen and talking in furious-animation to Tara who was shaking her head slowly. Beth could practically see the gears in her mind turning as she readied her counter attack to his argument.

"Are you kidding me?" he cried. "The graphics in this one are _so much_ better!"

His God-awful mullet was hanging in an unruly mess around his face like he'd forgotten to brush it. And knowing him, he probably had.

Tara leaned in closer to the counter as Beth passed to give her room, shooting her a brief smile while still focusing intently on Eugene's rant.

Then Beth had to duck under Zach as he barreled toward the swinging kitchen door with a tub of dirty dishes held high in the air so she had enough clearance to pass beneath it.

Not a single word was spoken between any of them. This was a choreographed dance, and they all knew it well.

She bee-lined across the diner to table three, and dropped off the plates to an eagerly awaiting Mr. and Mrs. Fields. She shared a few brief comments with them, told them to let her know if they needed anything else, and said that she hoped that enjoyed their meals. The usual waitress spiel.

She was about to head over and check on her other tables when out of the corner of her eye she spied a group of people waiting to be seated. Rosita was supposed to be on hostess duty, but as always she was currently MIA.

Beth sighed as she started towards them, slapping her happy-go-lucky-waitress face into place.

She grabbed a stack of menus with _Wayside Diner_ printed on the front in bold blue letters, and ushered them to a table in Tara's section.

"Your server will be right with you," she told them when they were seated. They all began to look over their menus, and she turned away and snapped her fingers and waved in Tara's direction to get her attention.

Tara looked over at her and noticed the new people in her section. She gave Beth a thumbs-up, before turning back and saying something to Eugene. Then she reached into her apron pocket to extract her order book, and headed for her new table.

Eugene looked slightly put out at the dismissal, but diverted his attention back to his computer screen and appeared to get over it quickly. He was used to it by now, spending nearly every day sitting in that same exact spot. He knew that Tara was ultimately here to work; sometimes he just got a bit caught up in whatever their disagreement of the day was.

There was some more bustling around for Beth; taking more orders, running food to her tables, getting people their bills. At some point Rosita reappeared from wherever she had gotten off to; probably the bathroom fixing her hair and makeup.

She, unlike Beth most days, put a lot of pride into her appearance. While Beth was content most days to just throw her hair up into a messy ponytail and put on her uniform, Rosita always came in with perfect hair and makeup. She'd even hemmed her originally unflattering pastel blue uniform to have a tighter bodice and shorter skirt — which Carol let her get away with because she liked her. Given the circumstances, she looked damn good. Actually, she looked damn good just in general. She could probably go out at night looking like that and be turning heads left and right.

Beth wasn't sure how she managed to stay looking so good after working a whole shift on her feet constantly moving, especially when it came to the heat of the kitchen, but she did it every day and Beth had to commend her for that. Sometimes she wished that she had even half of Rosita's motivation.

Carol had once confessed to Beth that the only reason she had them wear the uniforms was because she liked the small town vibe they gave the diner. And while the Wayside wasn't strictly located in a small town — Decatur, about twenty miles outside of Atlanta, population twenty-thousand — if she liked it, Beth wasn't complaining. And even though they weren't located in a small town, Beth was able to recognize most of the patrons. They had their regulars like any other place.

Carol Peletier was an angel, and probably the best boss that anyone could ask for. Once upon a time she'd been trapped in an abusive relationship with her husband, Ed. She stuck around for years — too many, she'd told Beth — before she finally knew that she had to get out. And that was only when she found out that she was pregnant with her daughter, Sophia.

She'd gone to the police that same day that she'd taken the pregnancy test, vowing that her child would never have to go through what she did. Now Ed was in jail, and Sophia had just turned eight. After the trial, Carol moved from Arizona to Decatur and opened the Wayside Diner. Thankfully, it had been a hit.

Now, she and Sophia lived upstairs in the apartment above the restaurant for convenience, and to save money. Sometimes Beth thought about what would have happened if Carol had never gotten pregnant, and how she'd probably still be with Ed. Or worse. But she didn't like to think about that. She had gotten out and made a better life for herself and her daughter. And for that, Beth really admired her.

The diner wasn't anything particularly extravagant. Like its namesake suggested, it was located off to the side of one of the busier roads in Decatur near the middle of town. It sat adjacent to a hairdresser owner by a woman named Karen, and a drycleaner owned by the Samuels family. Their two daughters, Lizzie and Mika, could often be found in the diner playing with Sophia.

The front wall of the diner was a long stretch of nearly floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the sidewalk, and inside the walls were painted a bright yellow color. The tables were a mix of blue vinyl booths, and worn wooden tables. Various different paintings lined the walls; sunflowers, beach scenes, other landscapes. Beth liked it. There wasn't any particular order to the design, no rhyme or reason, but if she had to pick one word to describe the place it would be _warm_. The diner felt warm to her, homey even. It was nice.

Slowly, the breakfast crowd began filtering out, and so began the brief lull in business before the lunch rush began. For whatever reason, from eleven thirty until noon the diner was always dead. No one new coming in, and everyone else having already left for the most part. But then at noon people would start streaming back in and that wouldn't let up until around seven. Then from seven until closing at midnight there would be stragglers getting a late dinner, or the late-night-diner-adventures that the teenagers always did.

She remembered when she used to do that in high school. It was always so exciting being out well past nightfall with her friends. They'd drive for miles out to the big lake on the edge of town, and just hang out until someone declared that they were starving and needed pancakes _immediately_. Then they would all pile back into the car and end up at the Wayside. Thinking about that now didn't bring the feeling of nostalgia or happiness that it used to. It just made her feel empty. All of that felt like a lifetime ago. It might as well have been. Everything was different now.

When her last customers paid their bill and shuffled out the door, Beth finally got the chance to sit down for a moment. She collapsed into one of the counter stools with a groan. It was only eleven thirty and her feet were already killing her. She really needed to invest in a better pair of shoes. Her ratty converse just weren't cutting it anymore.

She glanced down at her shoes and flexed her ankles. The stitching on the shoes was an absolute mess, and the rubber was starting to come apart from the fabric of the right one. Yeah, definitely time for a better pair of shoes. She mentally added it to her To-Do list for the next day she had off which was — she considered for a moment — Sunday. Only three more days, she could manage until then. And if not, that was what duct tape was for.

For the moment, Beth was alone in the dining room. Bob had gone home after the morning rush so he could be with his daughter while Sasha went to work, and Noah was set to show up any minute for the lunch and dinner shifts. Carol was still upstairs doing the books, and she should haven been down any time now. Rosita, Tara, and Zach had all disappeared outside for a smoke break, and Eugene had had to leave to get to his job at Best Buy.

So for the time being, Beth was blessedly alone with the peace; and rather unfortunately, her thoughts. It always got like this when she was alone, and it happened often. Her mind would wander to places she had tried to leave behind. Things she longed to forget. But that was the thing with pain, just willing it away didn't work. It was always _there_. There and waiting to reemerge, to consume her every thought.

That's why she sang a lot of the time. If her mind was focused on the song and lyrics, it couldn't go to those dark places.

So that was what she was doing now, softly singing a song that she'd heard on the radio when she was getting ready for work that morning. It wasn't the best song, one of those top forty's that was popular for the moment, but it was catchy and she was content to kill time like this until it was time to get moving again.

That was, however, until someone behind her cleared their throat.

Beth's singing stopped abruptly, and she spun around on her stool quickly — too quickly — which caused her to nearly lose her balance and fall off of her stool. Thankfully, she was able to catch herself by slapping a hand down onto the counter. When she righted herself — with as much grace as could be expected — her eyes fell on a man hovering in the doorway uncertainly.

He cleared his throat again, looking visibly uncomfortable. "Uh, are you guys open?" He gestured behind him toward the door, and then moved his hand to rub the back of his neck. "This sign said open. . ."

She didn't recognize him, which was not unheard of but not particularly normal either. The Wayside had its loyal following, and after growing up in town she at least recognized most people's faces. But she'd never seen this guy before, she'd have remembered him. You don't just forget a face like his.

He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a brown flannel over a white T-Shirt. He had on a pair of beat up work boots, and shaggy brown hair that hung around his face. He looked to be a few years older than Beth. And maybe he was attractive in that rugged kind of way, not that she particularly cared. She wasn't interested in anyone that way anymore. She didn't let herself be.

Beth immediately stood up and straightened her uniform, slapping her waitress-smile into place, strictly ignoring the burning in her cheeks caused by her almost-fall.

"We sure are!" she said. "Don't let the lack of people fool you, you just caught us in the midday lull." She headed behind the counter, and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the stools. "I'll take care of you over here."

He stayed where he was for a moment, before nodding once and walking over — somewhat stiffly, she noted — to take a seat in front of her. She moved to slide him a menu, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Just coffee's fine," he said. "I need a pick me up before work."

She laughed and put the menu back into the holder on the counter and then turned around to grab a mug and the coffeepot. "I know the feeling. What do you do?" she asked, setting the mug down in front of him and filling it up.

She wasn't being nosy — not really at least. It was just usual small talk. She did it with all the customers. Hell, she did it with everyone in general; with her neighbors in her apartment building, the people at the checkout line at the supermarket, at the bank. It wasn't like this was a new thing. But this guy clamed up and gave her some put out look like she'd asked him his social security number or something.

She kept her well-practiced smile plastered on her face and waited, while the guy continued to look at her funny. Maybe he was just weird, she thought. After about thirty seconds of silence he finally answered.

"I drive a cab." He said it slowly, like he was testing it out.

Beth glanced up and sure enough there was a yellow taxi parked on the street in front of the diner. "That's yours then I presume?" she asked, gesturing to it.

He nodded without turning around.

"Do you like it?" she asked, but she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like this guy was particularly forthcoming with information, and he certainly didn't appear to be looking for small talk. She was probably just bored, she decided. It would be more fun to try and coax a conversation out of this guy then to just, like, stare at the wall or something.

But she couldn't see why anyone would like driving a cab all day every day. Or driving any car at all, at any time. It sounded like a nightmare to her, but it's not like she liked driving anyway. Not anymore. In fact, she could count the number of times she'd driven in a car in the past three years on one hand, and she hadn't been happy about it any of those times. But that was understandable, after what had happened. She thought so at least.

He considered that for a moment, like no one had ever asked him that before. "Yeah. Guess so," he said with a shrug.

She was still smiling. Her mouth was starting to hurt.

"That's good. You want milk or sugar for that?" she asked, tilting her head toward his mug.

He shook his head. "No. I take it black."

She nodded. Of course he did. "Alright, well, let me know if you need anything else."

He nodded and turned his attention to his mug, looking relieved to be released from anymore possible chitchat.

She moved down the counter and began wiping up imaginary spills, just to have something to keep her mind occupied. She glanced at the clock again. Eleven forty-five. That gave her about five hours until her shift ended. And about seven hours until her weekly phone call with Maggie.

Maggie. Her sister. Her best friend. The girl that she used to be practically inseparable from. Their relationship was now defined by scheduled phone calls every Thursday night at seven o' clock sharp so they'd remember to keep in touch. It was pathetic, and Beth dreaded them.

She loved talking to her sister, so it wasn't that that she hated. It was what they talked about, and what they didn't. Maggie talked about, her job, her new friends, the new life that she was making without Beth.

She and her husband Glenn had moved down to Florida last year. She'd gotten a job as a teacher in an elementary school in Orlando, and he was a Real Estate Agent so he could work pretty much anywhere. So Maggie, Glenn, and her baby bump packed it all up and left Georgia in their rearview mirror. And Beth. They'd left her too.

But she shouldn't be so harsh. They'd asked her if she wanted to come. They'd opened up their new home to her, but she'd turned them down. She didn't want to be a burden; a reminder to Maggie of what she was really running from.

Their son had been born sixth months ago. Jameson Rhee. He was perfect — Beth had only met him once, when they had come for Christmas — but he was everything you'd imagine the perfect baby would be. Bright smile, chubby cheeks, adorable giggle. Maggie and Glenn were going to be amazing parents, she could already tell by the way they had doted over him.

Beth had yet to visit their new house in Orlando. She'd gone on a FaceTime tour though. It wasn't quite the same.

"Do you like it?" a voice cut into her thoughts, pulling her out of her head. She looked up and the black-coffee-taxi guy was looking at her, questioning.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Do you like it," he repeated. "Working here?"

"Oh," she said. Then she paused. Did she like it?

Was it the plan? No. Was it her dream to work in a diner for the rest of her life? No.

There was a time when she'd wanted to be a veterinarian. She'd been going to school for it and everything. She was going to work with her father. But then he died. And she'd dropped out of school and got a job here. And that had been three years ago, and she was still here with no end in sight. So, did she like it?

She'd never really given it much thought.

"Yeah," she told him with a smile. "Yeah, I like it."

She liked Carol. She liked her co-workers well enough. She liked getting to talk to different people all day. She liked being able to fill the silence. That was enough, wasn't it?

"Okay," he said, and looked back down at his coffee.

Beth studied him for a long moment after he'd looked away. Yeah, she thought, he was weird.

She went back to wiping up her imaginary spill, and the guy went back to his coffee, and they were both just content to pretend that the other one wasn't there.

A few minutes later Noah came bursting into the diner, the bell hanging above the door swinging up violently and hitting the wall. He was panting like he'd been running, and tugging his uniform on over an undershirt.

Beth glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read eleven fifty-six. He was only eleven minutes late today. Not bad.

"Hiya, Noah," she called, stifling a giggle.

His eyes were wide as he looked around the diner. "Shit. Beth. She's not down yet is she?"

"Who?" Beth asked. "Carol?"

"Yeah," he said straightening his shirt and walking further into the diner. He glanced around, nodding and looking satisfied with himself. "She said she was gonna kick my ass if I was late again this week. But it looks like I'm in the clear."

He smiled smugly. But then it quickly slid off his face at the sound of Carol's voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she said. She was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

Noah sighed. "Crap. So close."

Carol shook her head and chuckled. "Just get your ass in the kitchen and start prepping. The lunch rush is gonna start any minute."

"Yes ma'am," Noah said, saluting her and disappearing into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.

Tara, Rosita, and Zach returned from their breaks and people began filtering in for lunch. Beth let Tara and Rosita man the tables while she took care of the customers at the counter. Less running around for her aching feet.

At one point she turned around to refill black-coffee-taxi guy's mug, but found that he was gone. He must have left without her noticing.

In his place she found the money paying for his coffee, as well as a_ very_ generous tip. Especially given the strained conversation they'd had.

She frowned at it for a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her apron.

Yep, she decided, definitely weird.

**AN: I didn't intend to write anything else for bethyl for a while. Especially not a longer fic. But in light of recent events — I'm referring to that absolute bullshit mid-season finale — I had to change my mind. As I find myself teetering between full-fledged member of Team Delusional and overwhelming pessimism, I felt that some bethyl goodness was in order. Lord knows I need it. I hope you guys enjoyed. Hang in there everybody.**

**Comments and feedback are my literal life force, so feel free to leave some. (wink, wink. nudge, nudge.) xx**


	2. two

The moment that Beth entered her apartment and was able to take off her terrible, traitorous shoes was by far her favorite moment of the entire day.

She propped her bike up against the wall next to her front door, and then immediately kicked them off. She nearly sent them flying across the room in her haste because of how much force she'd used to get them away from her.

Far, far away.

Beth's apartment was pretty tiny, but it was just her so that was alright. It was one bigger room that held the living/kitchen/dining space, which then led off to two other rooms, the bedroom and bathroom.

She didn't have many personal items around the apartment — those were packed away in a box of memories that she kept hidden under her bed. In the main room she had a tiny round table that served as her kitchen table, and two mismatched chairs that sat around it. For the most part her kitchen was pretty bare, lacking in basic utensils and other normal kitchen stuff. She didn't know. Not a lot of cooking was done in her apartment, as the majority of her meals came from the diner since she ate for free there. Therefore, cooking generally wasn't a task required of her. Although, she did make a pretty mean bowl of cereal.

In her 'living room' she had a worn brown couch with a pink floral pattern that by all accounts should have been hideous, but she liked it. She had a coffee table that sat in front of it. And she had a TV. It was a decent sized flat screen which hung on the wall in front of the couch. She hadn't bought it though. She never would have purchased something like that for herself. She was all about living sparse and leaving the smallest possible footprint of her existence in the world nowadays. It had been a Christmas present from Maggie and Glenn. And, not gonna lie, it was pretty nice.

She had some dead or dying house plants stationed around the place which she always had a hard time remembering to water. Even with the neon post-it notes she'd stuck all over the place to remind her.

Her bedroom was more of the same. Bed. Nearly empty closet. Night table. Dresser. Simple.

For all intents and purposes, Beth's apartment was bare. Impersonal. And that was just how she liked it. This wasn't necessarily a home to her; no, she'd lost her home a long time ago. This was just where she lived. If it wasn't for the articles of clothing that coated nearly the entire apartment, it would probably look like no one even lived here at all.

That was another thing about Beth. She hated doing laundry. Despised it. Completely loathed it, and avoided it at all costs. Only once in a blue moon would she actually take the time to put her clothes where they were supposed to go in her drawers. Because instead, after hauling them up and down the five flights of stairs to the basement to wash them since the elevator was perpetually out of order — yeah, and she carried her bike up those stairs _every day_ — she would just leave them in the laundry basket next to the couch. And with the digging and scrambling to find something when she was running late in the morning, that tended to make somewhat of a mess.

You might describe it as looking kind of like a clothes volcano had gone off, but no matter. It wasn't like she had regular company coming over that she had to tidy up for. It was just her.

After catapulting her shoes across the apartment, Beth had just enough time to take a quick shower and change into her pajamas before her weekly scheduled pity party — which directly followed her weekly phone call with her sister.

When she was done showering and changing she headed back into dining area and popped open the to-go box she'd taken home from the diner for her dinner. Noah made a mean plate of chicken fingers. They were literally like deep fried heaven.

She dumped the contents of the Styrofoam box, which contained five chicken fingers and a generous handful of fries, onto a paper plate and stuck them into the microwave. They were never as good heated up as they were straight of the kitchen, they got a kind of rubbery texture to them, but she hadn't wanted to hang around the diner to eat them and risk running late for her phone call. Also, her feet were killing her and she had been dying to get back to her apartment and abandon her shoes for the night.

By the time she'd rode her bike the fifteen minutes to her apartment and taken a shower, her food had gone cold. So, rubbery chicken fingers and slightly soggy fries it was. Not as heavenly as she would have liked, but overall still pretty good.

She was just taking her first bite when the phone started to ring at 7:02 p.m.

She picked it up and stared at the phone in her hand as it rang one time, two times, three, before she sighed and answered it.

_Here goes_, she thought.

"Beth!" Maggie's excited voice came over the line. "Hey!"

"Hey," Beth replied, unable to help smiling at the sound of her sister's voice. It filled her with a feeling of warmth.

In the background she could hear the sound of Jameson's crying growing quieter, and then a _click_ as Maggie shut herself behind a door.

"How are you?" Maggie asked. "How's your week been?"

Beth frowned. "Is everything alright? If you're busy we can do this another time."

"Huh?" Maggie said in confusion. "Oh, the crying? Jamie's just having his first tooth grow in, so he's been fussy these past few days. Glenn's got it. This is my time for you. You know that."

Beth's heart swelled, and in that moment she missed her big sister terribly. She wished desperately that she was there with her so that Beth could hug her and they could just hang out and talk for hours like they used to. Like old times. But — this wasn't old times. Those were gone, and this was now. So now, Beth told her sister about her week.

She told her about her doomed converse sneakers. She told her about the man that had come to the Wayside by himself and ordered thirteen cheeseburgers, and then proceeded to eat them all by himself in under an hour with what appeared to no trouble whatsoever. She told her about the onion-ring toss that Noah had organized. And how Zach had held a wooden spoon upside-down, and the rest of them had tried to get the most onion rings around the handle. About how Carol had come in in the middle of it, and how they all thought that they were about to get into trouble. Right up until she ended up joining in and kicking all of their butts. She even told her about black-coffee-taxi guy and the twenty dollar tip he'd left her for a one dollar cup of coffee.

And, unsurprisingly, that was where Maggie stopped her.

"Was he cute?" she asked. And Beth could hear the exact moment that her interest_ really_ piqued.

"Maggie," Beth complained.

Ever since she'd left, Maggie had been unapologetically nosy when it came to Beth's _nonexistent_ love life. She was adamant with the idea that Beth needed someone, and Beth was firmly on the opposition that no she did not, and no she could not. She didn't have room for any more pain in her life. She couldn't let anyone get that close again and risk losing them — not after her daddy, her mama, Shawn, Jimmy. She just couldn't do it again, not after losing them all so horrifically.

"Oh c'mon, Beth. It's just a simple question," Maggie prodded.

"And I know where that simple question leads," she replied testily. "And I'm not interested."

Maggie's sigh was low. Beth could picture her sitting cross-legged in the middle of her king sized bed in her new bedroom. She'd still be wearing the clothes that she'd worn to work — dress pants and a nice shirt — because she wouldn't have had time to change into more comfortable clothes yet. She'd be barefoot though. She'd always hated wearing shoes, ever since they were little and Mama would always yell at her for tracking muddy footprints into the house. She'd have the phone in one hand, and be rubbing at her brow with the other — the way she always did when she was upset or aggravated.

They were both silent for a long time.

"Why do you have to be like this?" Maggie said finally.

"You know why," Beth replied evenly, though her hands were shaking. "Why aren't you?"

Maggie made a sort of pained noise, like a sigh but deeper and heavier. When she spoke her voice cracked. "It's like you don't want to be happy."

Beth could feel ice begin to fill her chest. "Maybe I don't," she hissed.

And then she vehemently hung up the phone.

When Maggie immediately called her back, she didn't answer. She just stared down at the phone as is rang and rang, letting it go to voicemail. She watched this happen one, two, three, four times as she stared down at her sister's contact picture smiling up at her brightly, before she flicked the phone to silent. Then she shoved it back into her bag, placed her head in her hands, and cried.

She didn't know how they'd gotten here. Everything used to be so good, and now Beth felt like she was gripping onto a quickly fraying rope as she tried to hold her and her sister's relationship together. She didn't understand how Maggie could be so — _okay_ — when Beth felt like she was slowly slipping away from herself. How could she be moving forward in her life, being _happy_, when Beth felt like she was just standing still? How could she continue to _live_ when Beth was being haunted by the past?

She didn't get it. They'd both lost so much, and yet Beth was the only one who was still affected by it. Because, you see, that was the reason that Beth Greene hated cars. Because she had lost nearly everyone she loved to a goddamn car accident. Her mother, her father, her brother, her best friend. All gone. Violent and bloody. And coming home from her birthday dinner no less.

Let her give you the cliff notes version. It was easier that way. That way you got to skip all the pain and the mourning that came afterward.

Let us set the stage. It had been Beth's nineteenth birthday, and her parents had taken them all out to dinner at a nice restaurant that Beth had been dying to try. When they'd left, Beth, Maggie, and Glenn had gone in Maggie's car, while her father, mother, brother, and Jimmy had gone in her parents' car. Jimmy had been in the middle of a conversation about sports or cars or something — she couldn't remember anymore, and that killed her — with Shawn, so he'd gone with them. That fact that he almost hadn't gotten into their car kept her up at night sometimes.

Everything had been fine. They'd been on their way back to their house. And everything would have stayed fine if they had just left a few minutes prior, or after. Or if she had decided to do something else for her birthday. Or if that car hadn't blown that red light and plowed into the side of her parents' car in that intersection. Or if their car hadn't flipped over and skid one hundred feet. Or if any minor detail about that day had been different.

But none of that had happened, and Beth, Maggie, and Glenn had been forced to watch all of it unfold; looking on horrified as their car was smashed and skid and flipped all over the road, unable to do anything to help.

She'd never forget the sound that it had made, screeching and crunching metal. And the blood. There had been so much blood. And the screaming. Everyone had been screaming. Especially her.

Her father and Shawn had died on impact; they'd been sitting on the driver's side. Her mother and Jimmy had died later on at the hospital. The doctors hadn't been able to save them.

Suddenly, half of their family was dead and it had just been her and her sister left behind. And then Maggie had left her. And then only she was left behind.

After that, Beth just closed in on herself. She couldn't take any more heartbreak and loss. And here she was, twenty-one years old and still standing in the same place that she'd been when she was nineteen, frozen.

That was the problem that she had with Maggie, she'd been able to move on and Beth hadn't. And while Beth knew that she might have been being too hard on her sister — she'd lost people too, she was hurting too — she couldn't change the way she felt. Because Maggie didn't seem like she was hurting. Her pain didn't get in the way of her living her life.

How was that fair?

Eventually, she stopped crying. She wiped away her tears and stood up from the table. Then she threw away her mostly untouched dinner. She'd lost her appetite.

She picked across the landmine of clothing that covered the tiny apartment, and into her room where she crawled into bed.

She'd have to deal with this at some point, she knew that. She couldn't fight with Maggie forever. But that was tomorrow's problem. Or maybe the next day's. All she knew now was that she was too tired to deal with it tonight, and that she had to wake up for the early shift again tomorrow.

Sleep came for her quickly, and she let it; and it was all so she could wake up tomorrow and do it all again.

* * *

><p>Another thing that Beth really hated were the days that she worked the morning shift. Why the Wayside had to open at 5:30 a.m., and why she had to get there at 5:00 a.m., she really didn't understand. Like really, who was up at 5:30 in the morning and already in search of breakfast?<p>

Well, the answer to that question was: more people than you would think. The diner was almost half full every morning at that ungodly hour. With old people who'd long forgotten what sleep was, people who had to be at work early, and young people who by the looks of them hadn't quite made it home yet. The bastards.

And those bastards were the reason that Beth had been forced from her bed — _before the sun_ — and was currently peddling her bike to the Wayside.

Had she mentioned that she wasn't a morning person?

Technically, she wasn't even on the schedule for this morning, but she had switched shifts with Tara. She and Eugene had gone to some midnight movie release the night before in Atlanta, and if Beth knew her, she was likely only stumbling home and into bed right now. Though, if she had decided to come in she probably would have fit right in with some of their customers.

No, Beth much preferred to work the swing shift — midafternoon until close — but she was always picking up extra shifts and covering for people. No matter how much she absolutely loathed the morning shift. And she did it for the same reason she did mostly everything else. Not because she needed the money as her father's Will had left her plenty of that, more than she knew what to do with. No, It was because she hated being alone with her thoughts.

If you added up the number of hours she put in each week between her own shifts and covering for others it was most likely well over forty, but Carol never said anything. She understood. Although, she'd always keep a closer eye on Beth if she knew she'd been working more lately; making sure that she wasn't running herself into the ground. Like Beth had said earlier, she was an angel.

So that was how Beth found herself turning into the alley behind the Wayside at 4:52 in the morning, and for the umpteenth time, she was less than pleased about it.

There was a slight chill in the air even though it was the end of June, and that was probably because _the freaking sun wasn't even up yet._

Rosita was already there, standing beside the backdoor with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a grimace on her face. She looked about as happy as Beth did to be there, and yet, she was still perfectly made up. Beth despaired slightly just thinking about what time she must have had to wake up to do that. The dedication on that girl was amazing.

The scheduling for the staff was more-or-less random at the Wayside — except for Bob and Noah who always had the morning and afternoon shifts respectively. It was because Carol didn't want people complaining about who was working when. So now what she did was assign a certain number of hours for everyone to work for the week, and then she pulled names out of a hat when she was making the actual schedule. That way whatever shifts you got were luck of the draw, and there was no room for complaint. Then whatever shifts that were left over gave people like Beth — well, mostly Beth — the opportunity to pick up some extra hours.

They'd had another cook who'd worked nights — Jim — but he'd quit the month before; so for the time being Noah was responsible for the afternoon and the night shifts, which sucked. Zach kept pestering Carol about training him to fill the position so he could get off bus duty, but she'd yet to make a decision on that. So for now, Noah was drawing the short end of the stick, and Zach was stuck hauling dirty dishes. Though, Carol would take over the kitchen sometimes and give Noah time off if she wasn't busy with other things, and never put Zach on for the early morning; so things weren't so horrible for them. Especially Zach, that lucky bastard.

"I hate working the morning shift," Rosita said in lieu of a greeting while Beth was bending down to lock her bike to the bench beside the diner's backdoor which was usually reserved for breaks.

"You're preaching to the choir," she replied, clicking her lock into place and straightening up.

"Now that's no way to start a work day," Tyreese, their — well, Beth supposed you could call him the assistant manager, but he was really just second in command after Carol — called as he headed around the side of the building toward them. He was a big, hulking man who looked more like he belonged in a wrestling ring rather than a tiny diner in Georgia, but looks could be deceiving as he was probably one of the gentlest people that Beth knew. He was also Bob's brother-in-law, which is how Bob had gotten the job in the first place. Tyreese had been with Carol and Wayside Diner almost since the beginning.

He was swinging a set of keys around his finger and whistling as he walked up to the backdoor to unlock it.

Rosita groaned. "Says the guy who's always chipper no matter what damn time it is."

Tyreese winked at her. "It's all in the attitude, sweetheart," he said as he pulled the key out of the lock and pushed the door open.

"I'll show you attitude," she mumbled as she slid past him and into the building.

Tyreese just chuckled and shook his head at her retreating back. Then he inclined his head toward Beth. "Ms. Greene," he said, gesturing with his arm for her to enter before him.

"Why thank you, sir!" she said with a smile.

They both headed inside after Rosita, and Bob showed up right after them. Then the four of them went around making sure everything was ready to go before they opened. Bob and Tyreese prepped in the kitchen, while Beth and Rosita took the dining room; filling the salt, pepper, and ketchups, taking chairs down from tables, and putting out rolls of silverware.

5:30 a.m. came quickly, and Tyreese flipped the sign on the front door from closed to open. Shortly after that people began wandering in.

And so it began.

Around 6:00 a.m. two men in uniform came in— Rick Grimes and Abraham Ford from the Decatur police department. They took seats at the counter.

Rosita was in the back getting Bob to replace an order because someone decided that they need on omelet instead of the pancakes that they ordered, so Beth took over the counter and got right to pouring them coffees.

"'Morning, Beth," Rick greeted her, tipping his hat.

"Good morning, Rick. Abraham," she replied pleasantly. She was wide awake now. Once the diner opened and she got into the swing of things, his disdain for being awake always started to melt away. Once she got over the whole waking up when it was dark thing, she actually quite liked mornings.

Abraham stretched his neck up trying to get a view of the kitchen through the window. "Rosita working today?" he asked.

Beth tilted her head at him and smirked. "She might be."

Just then Rosita kicked open the door to the main dining room with probably with a tad bit more force than was absolutely necessary. _She_ didn't quite get over her displeasure of being awake so early as quickly as Beth did. It usually took her until around noon usually, and that was only because she was too tired to be grumpy. She had four plates balanced on her arms, and she made her across the floor to deliver the food to its proper place. She saved omelet guy's plate for last, Beth noticed, and her waitress-smile was extra fake for him.

Abraham grinned broadly when he caught sight of her. "There she is!" he called loudly enough to get Rosita's attention.

She glanced over at them and made a face like she was annoyed. She finished talking to omelet guy and his table before heading over.

"Well, well, well. Looks like they're letting just about anyone in here now," she drawled, placing her hands on her hips as she strolled up to them.

"Ms. Espinosa, you know I'd walk through fire to see you," Abraham replied.

Beth and Rick exchanged a look, both of them with small smiles on their faces. This wasn't anything new.

Rosita just shook her head, seemingly unimpressed. "Oh, can it, you."

This only caused Abraham's grin to widen. "How's dinner sound for tonight?" he asked.

Rosita scoffed. "Hmm," she hummed, glancing at her nails. "That's a nice offer, but no thanks. I think I'll have to decline." She pulled her notepad out of her apron pocket as she walked over to the kitchen window and pulled out a few pages, laying them in the pile of waiting orders. Then she moved to the cash register and began totaling up one of her table's bill.

He tilted his head. "When will you finally agree to go out with me?"

She gave him a devilish smile as she began to walk back out onto the floor to deliver the bill. "When the dead rise from their graves and start walking around," she called over her shoulder.

Abraham was unabashedly head over heels for Rosita. He had been for as long as Beth had been working at the Wayside. And Rosita, though she put up a front, liked him too. Beth could tell, because if she didn't she would have told him to back off a long time ago. That was the type of person she was. But she hadn't, and from their playful banter it was obvious. But for whatever reason, she'd never agree to go out with him.

"I don't know why you won't just give it up," Rick said with a laugh. "This has been going on for years."

Abraham didn't look upset though. They'd been playing this game for a long time. He just shrugged and smiled, going back to his coffee. "Almost got her," he said. "She'll come around. Any day now."

Rick just laughed and shook his head. Then he turned back to Beth. "How are you, Beth?" he asked. "How have things been?"

Beth faltered slightly. It seemed like just a simple, empty question that people asked each other, but it wasn't coming from Rick. She could see it in his eyes; hear it in his voice every time he asked. Because they had a history.

Besides being a regular at the Wayside, they'd also interacted under different circumstances. He'd been friends with her parents. He'd also been the first responder at the scene of the accident. He'd seen all of it. He knew firsthand how _horrific_ it had been.

Beth smiled tightly. "Just great, thanks." Then she changed the subject quickly. "How are Lori and the kids?"

Rick gave her a look that showed that he saw right through her, but he didn't push it. "They're good thanks for asking. Kids are growing up too fast for my taste though. Carl starts high school in September, and Judith took her first steps the other day. I don't know where the time's going." He shook his head, his eyes shining with a touch of bittersweet nostalgia.

Beth didn't have children, she doubted she ever would, but she could imagine that it was somewhat bittersweet watching them grow up. Obviously you wanted them to grow up — that was the whole point after all, and the alternative was too awful to even think about — but watching them transform from your little baby to a mature adult had to be tough. Like she said, she didn't have children so she was just guessing. Though, she had wanted a child once. Not anymore.

"Kids'll do that," Beth replied good-naturedly.

After that she took their breakfast orders and put them in with Bob. Then she began running back and forth between her other tables, making sure everyone was happy with their meals. Currently, Zach was their only busser, so when he had off that extra task fell on the wait staff — like this morning. So on top of her normal responsibilities she had to add that to her list of things to do, and truth be told she was feeling a little overwhelmed.

She felt rushed having to get her customers in, take their orders, get them their food, get them out the door, and then clean the table, only to have to do it all over again with another group. Even with Both Rosita and Tyreese working too alongside her. And that was unusual for her. She'd been there three years, and at this point she could handle pretty much anything they had to throw at her, but her conversation with her sister the night before was still weighing on her mind. Plus the almost-conversation she'd nearly just had with Rick. It was beginning to be too much.

When she finally had a moment, she leaned against the counter and took a few deep breathes.

"You're looking a little overworked there, Beth," Abraham noted, sticking a bite of pancake into his mouth.

She smiled at him tiredly. "Our busboy, Zach, isn't working this morning," she told him. True. "Adds a little craziness to the equation." Also true.

Rick looked up. "You looking to hire another busboy?" he asked.

"Why? You interested?" Beth joked.

He smiled. "Not for me. For Carl. He was talking about starting to look for a job the other day."

Beth nodded. "You'd have to talk to Carol, but I think we could probably use him."

"Well I'll give her a call," he said, looking pleased. "Would you mind getting us our check? We gotta be heading into the station soon."

"Sure thing," Beth complied. She rang up their meal, handed them their check, and a few minutes later they were out the door.

A little while after that Tyreese came up beside her while she was refilling coffees. "Beth. Why don't you take your fifteen now. And then Rosita can take hers."

Beth nodded, grateful to be able to slip away for a few moments. She needed some fresh air. She finished up what she was doing, and then headed through the swinging kitchen door and towards the door that lead to the back alley.

"Where you going?" Bob called from where he was behind the grill flipping pancakes.

"Freedom!" Beth called back.

He laughed. "Lucky you!"

She emerged outside and immediately dropped down onto the bench beside the door. The sun was out now, and the chill of the morning had been burned away.

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her head against the cool brick of the building, sighing tiredly. She didn't want to feel like this anymore, like something was always _wrong_. She hated it. But she didn't know how to stop either.

She opened her eyes again and looked around. The alley wasn't such a great backdrop to her inner turmoil. It was just two kind of dirty brick walls facing one another, plus a bench and a dumpster. But the air helped — or it would have if it wasn't for the smell coming out of that dumpster. There were stubbed out cigarette butts all around her feet. She'd really have to talk to her coworkers about the damages they caused to the environment — especially since there was a garbage can _right there_.

Before she knew it, Rosita was there and throwing herself down onto the bench next to Beth.

"Sorry, Rapunzel," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Your moment of bliss is over. Get your ass back in there."

Beth groaned and pushed herself up. "Spoilsport."

Rosita grinned at her. "Don't blame me. Blame these God-awful people who need to eat breakfast at the crack of dawn."

Beth laughed and shook her head. "See you back in there."

"Oh, wait," Rosita said as Beth placed her hand on the doorknob. "I just sat a guy down at the counter and gave him a menu. I told him his server would be right with him, and that just happens to be you now since I am never, ever getting up from this bench again." She hummed in contentment, slumping farther down against the bench.

Beth gave her a salute. "Aye, aye."

When she got back into the dining room Beth saw the new guy sitting at the counter and mulling over a menu. She headed over to him, sliding her order book out of her apron pocket.

"Hi there," she said stopping in front of him. "Welcome to Wayside Diner, are you ready to order?"

The guy looked up at her, and after a beat Beth realized that she recognized him. "Oh," she said. "It's you."

Black-coffee-taxi guy frowned. "Me?" he questioned.

"Yeah," Beth replied. "You. The big tipper from yesterday."

"Oh," he said, and ducked his head. He looked sort of embarrassed about it, which was weird. But then again she'd already established that he was weird, so.

She waited a moment, but he didn't look like he was going to say anything else so she pushed ahead. "Are you ready to order?" she asked. "Just another black coffee like yesterday?"

He gave her a strange look, and for a moment she wondered if it was weird that she just spouted off his order from the previous day like it was nothing. But, it _was_ what she'd been calling him in her head, plus when you'd been doing this for a while you tended to remember people's orders. It was especially helpful when it came to regulars, even though this guy wasn't a regular. But whatever.

The silence that passed between them this time was shorter — maybe only five seconds — before he said, "The coffee's fine, but I think I'll get food too today."

She nodded and clicked her pen open, positioning it on her notepad. "What'll you have to eat?"

He glanced back at the menu for a moment before looking back up and asking, "What's your favorite?"

That was normal. People were always looking for food recommendations, and while she wasn't allowed to say that anything they had was disgusting because that was bad for business, she never had to lie because in all honesty pretty much everything was delicious.

She thought for a moment. "Personally, I like the French toast."

"Ain't never had French toast," he replied.

Her mouth fell open slightly. "You've never had French toast?" she asked in bewilderment.

He shook his head. "Nope."

She began jotting down on her pad. "Well then we're gonna have to change that. You ain't lived until you've had Bob's French toast. He's our cook," she added at the guy's confused face.

"Okay," he said. "That sounds alright."

She smiled at him, which he didn't return, and then she turned around to stick his order into the pile of others waiting on window sill.

Then she grabbed a mug and poured him his coffee.

"Your food'll be right out," she said, placing the mug in front of him. "And I promise you won't be disappointed."

He nodded and picked up his mug.

In the meantime she had other tables to tend to, but when she heard the Bob dinging the bell for black-coffee-taxi guy's order she hurried over, anxious to see his face the first time that he tried French toast — for reasons that she could not explain. Curiosity? The absurdity of the fact that a man his age had never experience the glory that was French toast? She didn't dwell on it, whatever it was.

She placed the plate down in front of him with a flourish, along with a bottle of maple syrup. He inspected it for a moment, lifting up one of the pieces with his fork to look underneath.

Did she really have to say what she was thinking again? _Weird_.

"You're gonna love it," she said. "I'd bet my life on it."

He glanced at her, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. Then he eyed the syrup and picked it up, pouring it onto his food slowly. Then he picked up his fork and knife and cut a piece off. He lifted the fork to his lips and closed his mouth over it.

Beth watched in anticipation as he chewed it thoughtfully. After a moment he swallowed and looked up at her.

"Well?" she said.

He began nodding. "Shit," he said. "You're right. That is good."

She broke out into a broad grin. "I told you!" she exclaimed, immensely satisfied.

For a second it looked like she may have caught a brief glimpse of a smile, but if she did it was gone as quick as it had come.

"I'll have to trust your advice from now on," he said taking another bite.

"I'd never lie about something so serious," she replied. And then, "So, that means you'll be back?"

He nodded slowly. "I had a couple of the guys I work with tell me this was the best place to eat, and so far it looks like they weren't lying."

"They weren't," Beth agreed. "And I'm saying that as an impartial critic, of course."

That time she actually did manage to get a small smile, which she was oddly proud of. It was kind of like the feeling that you got with you stuck the last piece into place in a really hard puzzle. Or like she'd cracked some sort of code. She'd barely seen him show any sort of emotion besides discomfort in the two conversations they'd had, and the smile was like a small victory for her.

"Of course," the guy said, repeating her. And it was in that moment that she realized that she'd been talking to him all this time and didn't even know his name. She couldn't very well keep calling him black-coffee-taxi guy in her head if she was going to be seeing him around in here.

"What's your name by the way?" she asked. "I never got it."

"Daryl," he told her, around another bite of French toast.

"Well, Daryl," she said, "I'm—"

"Beth. I know," he said, cutting her off.

This time she was the one to give him the strange look.

His cheeks adopted a red tint, and he quickly followed up with, "'Cause of your nametag. Not 'cause I'm creepy or anything."

Right. The nametag. She glanced down at it and her name stared back at her in capitalized black letters.

She laughed. "I always forget about this thing," she said giving it a light flick. "I grew up in this town, meaning I know most of the people here so they already know my name."

"Gotcha," Daryl said with a nod. He still looked embarrassed though.

Beth refilled his coffee as he ate, and when he finished his meal she got him his check. He placed money into it and handed it back. Then he stood up.

"I have to start my shift," he said somewhat awkwardly.

"Alright," she answered. "Well, I look forward to giving you more recommendations in the future.

"Same here," he replied with a short nod. And then he was gone, turning and walking out of the building, the bell above the door ringing behind him.

She watched him get into his taxi and pull away from the curb. Then, she began clearing away his dishes, getting the spot ready for the next customer.

**AN: Thanks for all the love on the first chapter! It really means a lot! xx**

**Edited: 01/08/2015**


	3. three

Carol entered the dining room at around 9:30 a.m. with Sophia trailing closely behind her.

Since she owned the Wayside and had painstakingly and loving poured her blood, sweat, and tears into it to get it to be the successful and smoothly running business that it was today, she had the luxury of getting to sleep in. Wistfully, Beth tried to remember what that was like. It must have been nice, she thought, getting to sleep past the sun.

"'Morning!" Carol called out, and a lot of the regulars returned the greeting. Beth was across the diner taking down orders from one of her table's. She caught Carol's eye, briefly giving her a wave and a smile.

Carol returned them as she set Sophia up at the counter, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Beth finished up, and then crossed the diner to step behind the counter. She poured a glass of orange juice and placed it down in front of Sophia. The little girl beamed up at her.

"Thanks!" she chirped, picking it up and taking a big gulp.

Beth smiled. "No problem. You sleep alright?" she asked. Then she leaned down to whisper to her conspiratorially. "No more nightmares about the dinosaurs?"

The other night Carol had been down in the kitchen helping Noah, and Sophia had been upstairs alone. During that unsupervised time she had taken the opportunity to watch the entirety of Jurassic Park. And what do you know, that had turned out to be a poor movie choice for the eight year old, because now she hadn't been able to sleep and Carol was less than pleased.

"Nope!" she confirmed. "My mom told me she'd fight them all off if they tried to come anywhere near me, so I'm not afraid anymore."

"That's good," Beth told her. "Plus, dinosaurs have been extinct for like sixty-five million years, and I really don't think anyone will be cloning one anytime soon."

"That's right," Carol said, placing a plate of eggs and toast down on the counter in front of Sophia. "Now, eat up. You need your energy, especially if you think you're going out to play with Mika and Lizzie today."

Sophia didn't need to be told twice, immediately digging in to her breakfast.

Carol turned to Beth and smiled. "'Morning. Everything go okay today so far?"

"Right as rain," Beth replied, her eyes drifting over to Tyreese who was making conversation with one of the tables. Just then, everyone burst out laughing at something he'd said. "Tyreese could probably run the morning single handedly. Me, Rosita, and Bob are just here for moral support basically. And Zach for entertainment purposes."

"Oh, hush," she said, swatting Beth's arm lightly. But Beth didn't miss the tender smile Carol made in Tyreese's direction. Then she changed topics. "I just got off the phone with Rick Grimes about getting Carl a job. You talked to him, right?"

"Sure did," Beth agreed. "I told him we could probably use the help."

At that, Sophia's ears perked up. "Carl?" she asked.

Beth and Carol shared a knowing smile. The little girl was enamored with the Grimes boy.

Carol tilted her head at her daughter. "Yeah, Carl. You wouldn't at all be interested in that happening, would you?" she teased lightly.

Sophia immediately shook her head. "No!" she insisted, focusing back on her food.

Suddenly, the sound of dishes clattering to the floor had both Carol and Beth turning their heads to look across the room at Zach. He was on his knees on the ground hastily picking up the dishes that he had just dropped.

Carol sighed. "Good thing those're plastic," she muttered.

They watched as he loaded up his tub again and straightened up, and then proceed to almost immediately slip on a spill on the floor. Beth winced, but he was able to right himself by tightly clasping onto the back of a chair. When he righted himself he looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and when he saw Beth and Carol watching him, he waved at them sheepishly.

"Yikes," Sophia said, looking between Zach and Beth and Carol with wide eyes. "He's a mess."

Beth snorted.

Carol hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah, we could definitely use another busser. At least part-time. I told Rick he should bring Carl in sometime later in the week and we would start training him."

Zach came bustling over to them and hefted his tub of dishes onto the counter. "What's this about?" he asked, having caught the end of what Carol had just said. "We're getting another bus boy?"

"Yeah," Carol started. And Zach perked up excitedly. "I'm gonna hire Carl Grimes, and you're gonna train him."

"So does this mean that you're gonna start training me for the kitchen?" he asked, practically bouncing in his shoes.

Carol gave him a sort of half-amused smirk and patted his shoulder. "No," she said. And Beth wasn't sure if she had ever seen a nineteen year old boy pout so deeply before. "But it means that you're gonna get some help around here."

That didn't make Zach look any happier. If anything his frown only deepened. "Fine," he sighed. "Whatever." Then he picked up the tub of dishes and banged through the swinging kitchen door roughly.

It took about five seconds for his guilty face to pop into view through the kitchen window behind Noah's shoulder — who looked amused having witnessed the entire exchange. He was constantly bragging to Beth that he had the best spot in the diner. He got to see everything, which meant that he had a front row seat to any drama that erupted.

Carol gave Zach a look, and he winced.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry." Then his face disappeared from view and Beth heard the sink turn on.

Noah pressed his lips together, looking like he might laugh, but Carol gave him a look too and he schooled his face quickly.

Then she turned to look at Beth, giving her an entertained smirk, before shaking her head and walking away.

Beth had to disagree with Noah on having the best position in the diner. His location may have been good, but Carol's standing had her in the lead. She got to be the boss, while at the same time messing with everyone for her own amusement. That right there deserved any and all bragging rights.

Just as Beth's shift was coming to a close, Tara trudged through the front door to relieve her looking _very_ hung-over. Just as Beth expected her to be.

Her hair was disheveled, her uniform wrinkled, and she had on sunglasses that she didn't remove right away. She just came in and made a beeline straight for the coffee maker.

Beth watched silently as Tara poured herself a cup, not bothering with milk or sugar, and took a long, slow sip. Strangely, that reminded Beth of Daryl — black-coffee-taxi guy — for a moment. Tara then placed the mug on the counter gingerly, and laid her head against the wall.

"Fun night?" Beth asked lightly, trying and failing to hide her grin.

Tara groaned. "Never, I repeat, _never, _let Eugene challenge you to a drinking contest. The guy may look like a nerd, but his liver is made of like steel or something."

"Duly noted," she said. Then, "Where is he this morning, anyway? Shouldn't he have showed up for his hangover breakfast by now?"

For whatever reason, every time Eugene had a hangover he'd come to the diner and order the greasiest egg sandwich known to man — no seriously, when he ordered it he'd specifically request 'extra grease'. Beth could hardly stomach to look at it let alone even consider eating it. But Eugene always managed to scarf it down and look better for it afterward. She tried not to look too closely at anything he did though, because that only made him seem stranger. With that hair-do though . . . what could you really expect from the guy?

"Still passed out on my kitchen floor," Tara answered. And when Beth gave her a strange look, she said, "Don't ask. It was a long night." And Beth simply nodded.

Tara straightened up and took off her sunglasses slowly, squinting around the diner. "Has it always been so bright in here?"

Beth glanced up at the lights. "As far as I know," she answered.

"Well it shouldn't be," she grumbled, grabbing her apron from where it hung on a hook on the wall and pulling it over her head. She struggled with it for a moment before getting it to hang straight, and then tied it closed with a knot in the back.

"Will we see you tonight?" she asked, fishing around in the pocket for her order book. "We're all gonna go out after work."

Beth snorted. "Ready for round two already?"

Tara shook her head with a very serious expression. "No. For the love of _god,_ no. We're just hanging out. Sans drinking. I don't even want to _think_ about alcohol ever again."

"Until next weekend."

"Until next weekend," Tara amended with a sly smile. And then she gave Beth a hopeful look. "So?"

Beth shook her head and gave the same answer that she always did. "I don't think so."

"Lame!" Rosita called on her way past them out the front door. Her shift was over too.

Beth shrugged and smiled, like she always did. "Sorry."

Then, before either of them could say anything else, she took off her apron and hung it up, saying, "See you guys tomorrow!" and then pushed into the kitchen through the swinging door.

Noah was halfway into the walk-in freezer when she entered. He glanced over at her. "Think you'll ever actually hang out with us?" he asked. And, God, he really did hear everything.

She smiled tightly. "See you tomorrow," she said, and then headed outside through the backdoor.

"One of these days, Greene," he called after her. "I'm gonna get you to come with us one of these days."

Beth liked the people she worked with, she really did. That wasn't why she didn't ever go out with them. It was that she no longer allowed herself to have friends. Technically speaking, they were the closest things that she had to _friends_. She certainly saw them enough. But she never, ever saw any of them outside the walls of the Wayside, and she fully intended to keep it that way. It was one of her rules now. Because she didn't want to let them get too close. Because she couldn't risk it.

She emerged out into the alley, momentarily thankful to be away from any conservation, but then that quickly evaporated as all the thoughts that being busy at work had been keeping at bay began creeping their way out of hiding. She tried to take a deep breath and clear her mind, but the unpleasant smell of the dumpster eliminated any hope for fresh air.

She bent down next to her bike to undo the lock, already thinking about how tired she was. And how she should probably call Maggie. And how she hadn't even checked her phone all day. And how she didn't even want to think about how many missed calls and texts she must have had.

But then Zach banging out the backdoor snapped her out of her verging-on-thoroughly-overwhelmed headspace.

He nearly fell over himself as he came through the door, all gangly and spastic as he whipped around wildly — looking for her, she realized.

His eyes fell on her where she was crouched down next to her bike, watching him. He went wide-eyed for a second, before running a hand through his hair slowly and glancing around the alley, trying to brush off what she'd just witnessed and look cool. Unlikely, but it was a nice attempt.

Despite her physical and emotional exhaustion, Beth was still able to be mildly amused. Zach always kind of reminded her of a little kid on a sugar high.

"Hi?" she asked, doing everything she could to not laugh at him. He also kind of reminded her of a kicked puppy with that sad face he got on whenever someone caught him doing something embarrassing.

"Oh, hey," he said, trying and failing to be nonchalant.

"What's up?" she asked. "Taking your break?"

"What?" he asked, squinting. "Oh. No. I just had a question to ask you before you left for the day."

"Oh. Okay," she said. And then she waited. And so did he.

She was suddenly reminded again of Daryl and the stilted conversation they'd had the first time they'd spoken, but for whatever reason this one felt more awkward; even though she knew Zach much better and for longer than she did Daryl. Huh.

She finished unlocking her bike and stood up, placing her hands on the handlebars in a way to signal that she was trying to leave. She tilted her head at him expectantly.

He blinked a few times before realizing what she was doing. "Oh!" he started. "Right! I wanted to ask if you had any plans for tonight."

She groaned inwardly. That was what this was about? How many times did they have to have this conversation? Out of everyone, Zach was always the most _persistent_ when it came to going out with all of them. Though, she wasn't quite sure why he kept trying so hard, as she hadn't once agreed.

Somehow, she managed to give him a tiny smile. All she wanted to do was go back to her apartment and fall into bed, not to have this conversation for what felt like the millionth time. "I already told the others that I wasn't gonna go," she told him. "Thanks though." She started wheeling her bike toward the street.

He looked confused for a moment, and he moved to catch up with her, forcing her to have to stop. "Oh, you thought I was talking about—no. I didn't mean going out with everyone. I meant just—uh, just us."

It took Beth a moment to figure out what it was exactly that he was proposing. But by then he was already plunging ahead.

"I get off at 8:00, so I could pick you up then—actually I'll have to go home and shower first. So I could probably get you at by 8:45, 8:30 if I'm really fast."

Beth squinted at him because he was talking very fast, and she was very tired and having a hard time keeping up.

He continued, "I was thinking a movie, or maybe bowling. So, what do you say?"

This was not what she needed right now. On top of everything else, now she had to deal with this too. It took literally everything in her to not explode at him. _It's not Zach's fault_, she had to remind herself. _You aren't actually mad at him. Don't take it out on him._

"Zach," she started. And she immediately felt guilty because he just looked so hopeful, and she didn't want to be the one to steal that from him. But she just _couldn't_. "That's really nice of you to offer, but. . ." She trailed off. Then she watched him deflate.

"Oh," he said.

"It's not about you," she assured him quickly, as she began walking away — also quickly. She just wanted to be _out of there_. "I just don't date anymore. I'm sorry."

Then she hopped on her bike and rode away, leaving him standing there in the alley watching her go. Another thing that she'd have to add to her list of things to deal with later. Great. Just great.

* * *

><p>Daryl was woken up by his cell phone ringing.<p>

He cracked open an eye and squinted into the brightness of the room. He really needed to invest in some curtains, or at least a black garbage bag to hang on the windows or something, because waking up to this goddamned blinding light everyday was getting real old. And maybe some furniture too while he was at it. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor every night wasn't really doing his back any favors.

Although, there wasn't really much of a point to that. The only thing he really _needed_ in his studio apartment was the bed. He most likely wasn't gonna be sticking around long after Merle got back.

Speaking of Merle — the reason he'd been woken up in the first place — his phone was still ringing, and it wasn't like anyone else called him.

He threw a hand down to the floor and started groping around for his cell, accidentally knocking over a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in the process. He watched in a half-asleep daze as the amber liquid emptied out of the bottle and onto the scuffed wood floor, uncaring. He had more.

And then— there it was — his phone. His fingers curled around it and he lifted it into his line of vision. He hit talk just as the call was about to go to voicemail. Or, just stop ringing. He'd never actually bothered to set up the voicemail.

"Hello?" he grunted into the phone.

A woman's bored voice came over the line. "This is a collect call from—"

"I'll accept the charges," he said cutting her off. He knew the drill by now.

She didn't bother replying. He heard a _click,_ and then a moment later, his brother's voice. "Hey, hey! Baby brother!"

"Hey," he answered. "Merle, how're you doing?"

"I'm in prison, jackass. How do you think I'm doing?"

Daryl snorted, unamused. "That's just the thing you ask somebody when you start talking to them. You don't gotta be a dick about it."

"Well if you didn't ask stupid questions I wouldn't have to," Merle shot back.

He sighed. "Did you just call to be an asshole, or did you have something else you wanted to talk about?"

Daryl talked to his brother about once a week; that was how often he got phone privileges. (Except for recently, because the idiot had gotten into a fight. He was lucky they'd just taken away his outdoors and phone time and not pushed back his release date.) And when he called, he usually had some sort of story about the shit that went on in prison. Like the fights he'd seen or the shitty food he'd had to eat or what he'd been working on in the auto shop that they had there. Generally, he'd just launch right into whatever he had to say before Daryl even got his greeting out. Not this time though, so obviously Daryl had questions.

Merle huffed in annoyance. "I see you still haven't grown a sense of humor since I been gone. But, no, I did have a reason for calling besides busting your balls. I wanted to see how you're settling into your new place."

He'd been in this town for a little over a month, and the last time he'd spoken to Merle had been just before he'd rolled in. He was slightly surprised his brother even remembered that he'd changed locations. He'd done it so frequently since Merle had been locked up two years prior, never staying in one place too long, that sometimes it was even hard for him to keep track.

"That all?" he asked. "Checking to see how I'm settling in?" And then he laughed. "What are you, my mother?"

"Closest you got."

He hadn't anticipated Merle's response, and it made him tense up. He regained composure quickly.

Daryl scoffed. "What are you gonna ask about next? My job? If the people I work with are being nice to the new kid?"

Merle let out a long sigh. When he spoke again he sounded tired. "Daryl. I'm still your big brother, and even if they got me locked up that don't mean I'm gonna stop trying to look out for you."

This was one of Merle's rare moments of sincerity, and not going to lie, it through Daryl for a loop. He was used to his brother being an uncaring dick. This was, well, different.

Daryl was silent for a long moment. He watched the creeping fingers of spilled golden liquid as they made their way across the floor. He had never been particularly good with words. He often struggled to find the right ones, or any at all. A lot of the time it made him look stupid, or apathetic—but the truth of the matter was that it was exactly the opposite. He thought too much, he cared too much. His mouth often just had trouble putting together the right words to properly express what he was feeling.

This was one of those times.

He knew in his heart what he was feeling, but he couldn't get a solid grip on it. He was . . . he was—surprised? Lonely? Overwhelmed? He couldn't describe or express it, and that aggravated him. Because it felt like there was a brick wall inside of him that kept him separated from the rest of the world. He didn't know how to break through and—get in touch with himself? Ugh, he was nauseating himself.

But Merle knew how he felt, or at least Daryl hoped that he did. He'd spent his entire life with the guy, so he should have had an idea at least. So he didn't try and voice it, just hoped that it was a given.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm good. Everything's good."

"Good," Merle said, satisfied.

"How about you?" Daryl asked. "You uh, you still . . . good?"

And by good of course, he meant clean. Because that had been the thing that put Merle away, the drugs. Specifically meth. Prison made the stuff harder to get, but not impossible. He'd struggled with it his first few months. But he'd clean for the rest of the time as far as Daryl knew.

His brother groaned. "C'mon. You know I am. You think I'd risk that when I'm so close to freedom?" Daryl went to reply, but Merle cut him off. "Sorry, baby brother gotta hang up. Guard's giving me the stink eye. I'll see you in three months. Take care of yourself until then for me, yeah?"

"Oh," Daryl said. "Okay. Yeah. You too."

They hung up, and Daryl let the phone fall onto the mattress beside him. Then he rolled onto his side and halfheartedly threw yesterday's shower towel at the spill. It missed most of it, as it had run almost to the other side of the room by now, but he didn't care.

His phone call with Merle had left him feeling . . . well to be completely honest he didn't know how he was feeling. Like a kid again, maybe. All he knew was that these last two years on his own had been Hell, and he was anxious for Merle to get released.

That was why he'd moved out here. He'd been all across Georgia for the past few years, but he'd chosen here for the last stretch of his brother's sentence because he wanted to be close by.

So he'd chosen it for its location, but it actually ended up being alright. Not like some of the shit-hole towns he'd stayed in. He hadn't lied when he'd said he liked it.

He liked Dale, and he was damn grateful to him for giving him a job when by all counts he probably shouldn't have. Sunshine Taxi's — "My wife named it." — was one of the first places that Daryl had seen when getting to town. He'd walked in, done a quick informal interview, and Dale had hired him on the spot. He'd been shocked, really. Dale had turned out to be a damn good man, letting Daryl pick up extra shifts all the time. Even after just working the past month, he had a decent amount of cash lining his pockets. He hadn't been this secure financially in years.

He liked the people he worked with, Martinez, Andrea, T-Dog. They were all pretty cool. They'd gotten drinks a few times, which was new for him. Being somewhat social. His apartment was okay. The town, too. It was all nice, but none of that really mattered to him.

He just wanted his brother back.

Done with his internal bullshit, sap-fest, he hauled himself out of bed and basically limped into the kitchen area in search of food and a clear head — and found neither. Somehow he'd forgotten that he didn't generally keep food in the apartment. Why was that again?

He glanced into the empty fridge in vain, which wasn't even plugged in for Christ sake, and then down at his watch. Then he cursed. He'd overslept. Looked like there wouldn't be any time for food now. Damn shame too, because it had been a few days since he'd eaten a real meal, and that had been the French toast he'd had at that diner. Since then it had been just fast food and convenience store junk.

Maybe he'd stop at the diner after work and see if that waitress — Beth, that was her name — had any more suggestions for him. Until then though, he had to haul ass if he planned on getting to work on time.

* * *

><p>Beth jolted awake, her hand immediately flying to her chest.<p>

She was lying in her bed — safe in her bed — with her legs tangled up in her blankets and her skin coated with sweat. Her breathing was ragged, and she took a moment to try and settle it and attempt to bring her heartrate back down to a somewhat normal level. This had been the third night this week that she'd been woken up by a nightmare.

But not just a nightmare — _the_ nightmare. The same nightmare that she'd been having for years; the one that put her in the front passenger seat of the car — the one that put her there but didn't let her stop it. Made her watch it all happen — made her relive it — like she'd been there. Like she _could _have stopped it. Like it all could have been prevented if she had just been a little faster, a little braver, a little—

Logically, she knew that she couldn't have done anything. She _knew_ that it wasn't her fault — but, then there was the illogical part . . . That part wasn't so easily convinced. And it wasn't like what had happened was exactly logical either, or probable, or anything else that would have made it make sense. But it had happened, and illogical generally trumped logical for her now.

And the nightmares were getting worse; more frequent, more violent.

On the bedside table, her radio was still playing softly. It was tuned to a random station. She never cared what was playing, as long as _something_ was.

For instance, right now a late-night — or early morning, depending on how you looked at it — talk show was on. And they were talking about — you guessed it — conspiracy theories. She turned it up and leaned back into her pillows, letting the sound of angry voices arguing about who really killed JFK wash over her.

Falling back to sleep was unlikely now.

* * *

><p>It had been nearly a week since her fight with Maggie, and Beth had yet to call her back. Her phone still sat in her bag, untouched. It was probably dead by now.<p>

_Tomorrow_, she told herself like she had every other day since they'd last spoken. She'd call her tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure.

And while she may not have made any progress on fixing things with Maggie, she had managed to a little damage control when it came to Zach.

She had very awkwardly and haltingly explained to him, using the biggest cliché in all of existence, that it wasn't him, it was her. She just wasn't looking for anyone or anything right now, and that she was sorry and hoped they could still be friends. Zach had stood in front of her, slumping his shoulders and looking like a kicked puppy, while Noah stood on the other side of the kitchen wall frying burgers and poorly trying to conceal a laugh. It hadn't been one of the better parts of her day.

But on a brighter note, she had found time to go and buy a decent pair of sneakers, so at least her feet were happy.

It was a Tuesday night about an hour before closing, and the diner was completely dead. The only people that were there were Beth and Noah; plus Sophia and Carol who were upstairs in bed.

Their last customers had cleared out about an hour before, and Carol had sent both Tara and Rosita home before going to bed herself. She hadn't expected many more, if any, people to come in that night. Beth had volunteered to stay until close, and well, Noah didn't have much of a choice.

So now they were sitting side by side at the counter, just killing time until they could close up. They'd already wiped down the tables and refilled the condiments. They hadn't had to stack the chairs. That was only for the nights when they had to mop, which was thankfully not tonight.

Noah was still trying to decide whether or not he should start cleaning the grill, or if that would be jinxing it; and at the same time, he was still laughing about Beth's conversation with Zach.

"No—but," he was clenching his side from laughing so hard. "Beth, his face. Did you see his face?" He doubled over again. Noah didn't dislike Zach, at least not that she knew of, but rather he was just a merciless gossip and loved to bask in other people's embarrassment.

She was working on straightening the sugar packets in the holder on the counter, and she turned to frown at him. "Stop, don't be mean. I feel bad."

Noah waved her off, just barely reclaiming his composure. "Don't," he said. "Kid should have known better. He's been working here how long? A year? Year and a half? He should have realized that you weren't interested by now. He brought it on himself."

Her frown deepened. She dumped the sugar packets on the counter, deciding to organize them by color and brand, considering what Noah had said.

He _did _have a point. Zach should have realized. She'd never given him any indication that she could have been interested. And besides, she had enough to worry about without adding Zach's feelings to the pile. He'd get over it eventually. And if until then he avoided looking her in the eye and made sure to skirt around her in the diner whenever possible, so be it. It wasn't like she was trying to keep friends anyway.

She was about to voice her sentiments on the matter when the door opened behind them, blowing in a gust of the cool night air. Noah groaned quietly beside her, and then begrudgingly turned around to greet whoever it was. She placed the last packet back into the holder.

"Hey, man," he said in a slightly sullen voice. "You ordering food?"

"No," a male voice said. "I'll prolly just have coffee."

Beth swiveled around in her seat, and her eyes fell on Daryl. He was standing just inside the doorway and shrugging off his coat, and then tucking it under his arm. It had been a few days since he'd last been in, when she'd given him the French toast, and she hadn't realized until just now that she'd been anticipating his return.

Huh. That was . . . new.

The logical part of her told her that that was probably just because she wanted to introduce him to more delicious breakfast food, like a taste bud messiah or something. She purposely didn't let the illogical part get a say in this matter.

Noah jumped up excitedly and punched at the air. "Yes!" he cried. "That settles it. I'm flipping the sign and cleaning the kitchen. No one else is getting fed tonight." He ran over to the door and flipped the sign to close with a flourish. Then he more or less skipped to the kitchen door. "Beth, get this fine gentleman a coffee! He's my new best friend." Then he disappeared into the kitchen, and Beth heard him begin to sing (poorly).

It was just shy of midnight on a Tuesday, and it was clear that most likely no one else was going to be coming in. The street outside was vacant, and it had been close to a twenty minute since she'd heard any cars go by that weren't Daryl.

Beth smiled and shook her head in amusement. That was always Noah's favorite part of the day, the end. Which was understandable seeing as he had to be there for the better part of mostly every day.

She turned her attention to Daryl, who was staring at the door that Noah had disappeared through looking thoroughly confused. But then he shifted his attention and looked over at Beth, and she thought that he may have looked pleased to see her. It was kind of hard to tell. He wasn't a very expressive guy from what she'd seen so far.

She smiled at him and folded her hands together in her lap. "Well, well, well, look who it is. I thought you may have found a new diner when you didn't come back in for another recommendation."

"Actually," he said, after hesitating for a moment and then coming to sit beside her, "I was in the other day, but you weren't here. So, I think that's on you. Didn't have a clue what to get."

His eyes shined slightly, and she realized that he was making a joke.

She hummed in consideration. "Guess you got me there. My schedule's really erratic, so it's hard to tell when I'm gonna be in."

He made a sound of understanding. "I know what that's like."

"Right. I guess driving a cab's an all-day thing, yeah?"

He nodded. "Graveyard shift ain't a party or nothing, but yeah. It's an all-hours gig. I pick up whatever shifts I can, too. Extra cash lying around doesn't hurt."

"I feel that," she said. But it was more about the extra shifts in general than the money for her. She actually didn't care about the money at all, just filling her time.

She hopped off her stool and rounded the counter, grabbing him a mug from the rack next to the sink. She reached for the half-full coffee pot, and then paused when she remembered what time it had been brewed. She made a face at it and then proceeded to pour the brown liquid down the drain.

"I'm gonna brew a fresh pot because this has been sitting here long enough to cease being drinkable," she said over her shoulder, flipping on the faucet to rinse the pot.

"Bet I've had worse," Daryl replied.

"If I let you find that out for certain I would have failed at my newly acquired mission of introducing you to good tasting things," she pointed out, turning her body so she could look at him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Fair enough."

They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the next few moments, listening to the dripping and the gurgling of the coffee maker and Noah banging around in the kitchen. He'd stopped singing.

When the coffee was done, Beth poured Daryl a mug, and then one for herself after contemplating it for a moment. She didn't care much for coffee, not usually. The taste was a bit too bitter for her, and working day in and out at the Wayside left the scent of practically imbedded in her nostrils. Generally, she'd stick to tea if she indulged in caffeine at all. But for whatever reason she was in the mood for it, so coffee it was.

She slid his mug over to him. "Black, right?"

He nodded gratefully and took a sip. "Thank you. Long day."

"Tell me about it." _More like long life_, she thought but didn't say out loud. She held up her mug to him. "Cheers."

He clinked his cup against hers. "Cheers."

Noah emerged a few minutes later with his jacket on and apron thrown over his shoulder. He hung the apron up on the hook behind the counter, before turning and giving Beth a salute. "Done for the night, General. May I be relieved of my duties?"

She gave him a curt nod. "At ease, soldier. You're released."

Noah grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. "You good then?" he asked, his eyes sliding to Daryl for a fraction of a second.

Beth was quick to catch it. He was obviously a little wary of leaving her alone with him, even if he'd declared him his best friend not a half hour prior. But she wasn't worried, which may have been too trusting of her. But either way, she could take care of herself. And if it came down to it, which she seriously doubted, Carol was right upstairs and would hear her if she started yelling for help.

Anyway, there was only one thing that she was afraid of now, and it wasn't Daryl.

She pushed Noah lightly toward the door. "I'm good. Go home and get to bed. I'm surprised you're even still standing."

He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm going. I'm going." He made for the door, nodding at Daryl. "Night, man. Thanks for not ordering food."

Daryl nodded back once, his brow creasing slightly like he was confused again. Or maybe he just thought that Noah was weird, which was understandable. Beth wasn't sure how she would react if someone at a diner ever thanked her for not eating.

"No problem," Daryl said.

Noah gave Beth another meaningful look, before pushing through the door and out into the night.

Soon after that, both Beth and Daryl had finished their coffees. She washed the mugs and rang up his order. Then she flipped off all the lights and slipped on her coat. Daryl stood close to the door waiting for her to lock up, and she let him. She wasn't exactly sure why. He could have easily left by now. Maybe he was just being polite or something.

They stepped outside into the night and she locked the door behind them, and then double and triple checked it. Daryl stood beside her with his hands pushed deeply into his pockets. He glanced at her, and then up and down the street, realizing that his cab was this only car currently parked on the road. He scrunched up his brow.

"You need a ride somewhere?" he asked.

She shook her head and jerked her chin in the direction of the alley. "No. I have my bike."

He looked uncertain. "Are you sure? You want me to wait while you unlock it? It's late."

"Nah," she said. "I'm good. You can go."

He stood still for a few seconds before nodding once. "Okay," he said. "Well, goodnight."

"I expect I'll be seeing you soon for your next meal introduction," Beth said.

"I expect you will," he agreed. Then he turned and started to get into his cab.

"Daryl," she said. And he turned to look back at her. "How do you feel about blueberry pancakes?"

"Like I've never had 'em."

She grinned. "Then that's next."

He smiled, a real one, and it made Beth feel warm despite the chill in the air. Small victories, she told herself.

* * *

><p>She didn't go right home.<p>

While Beth's life was more or less_ empty, _she still had her habits. She'd always ride her bike past the lake on her way to and from work — not the same one she'd go to with her friends in high school, the one in town, a smaller one — even when it was dark because she liked the way the water looked when it reflected the light of the moon and sun. She'd always check to make sure things were locked at least twice, not out fear really, but rather a habit instilled in her from a young age. The National Geographic Channel was a near constant soundtrack when she was at her apartment because she liked the simplicity of nature; and then the radio when she went to bed. And she'd only go food shopping in the middle of the day when the store was at its busiest.

Oh. And then sometimes when she got off of a late shift, like tonight, she'd ride her bike to her old home and stare at it.

She slowed down as she approached, bringing her bike to a full stop in front of the driveway. It was a white two story home with blue shutters, and a porch that wrapped around the front of the house. There were bushes along the porch railing, and flower boxes on the second story window sills that Beth had hung herself when she was fourteen.

There was a big tree in the front yard that she had climbed for the first time at eight years old after a dare from Jimmy. Her mama had been so mad at her when she'd looked out the kitchen window and saw her nearly at the top, but mostly worried. Her daddy had nearly had to climb up and get her after she'd gotten her shirt snagged on a branch on her way down — which would have been no small feat for a man his age — but she'd managed to get herself loose and make it down all on her own.

"Look at you, Bethy," he'd said and ruffled her hair. "You're getting so grown up. Soon you're not gonna need me around to save you at all."

At the time, she'd just giggled and brushed the comment off like it was nothing. But now here she was, without him, standing in front of that stupid tree thinking about just how wrong he had been. She still needed him to save her.

She stepped forward and touched the cool bark, running her fingers along it. That tree had memories of everyone in it. It was where Shawn had almost broken every bone in her body after pushing her too high in that tire swing he'd rigged up. The family that lived there now had taken the swing down now. She tried not to let that bother her.

It was where she'd gotten her first kiss from Jimmy when she was thirteen, before either of them knew what it really meant. It was where she'd spent countless summer days lounging beneath it in the shade with Maggie, talking about life and boys and the future. It was where she'd had picnics and tea parties with her mother.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

A family lived there now, parents and their two young kids — a boy and a girl. She'd seen them once when they first moved in. They looked nice enough, happy, but still, she couldn't keep herself from kind of hating them. It was their tree now. They'd make their own memories with it. Inside the house too. She didn't even want to think about them possibly changing what it looked like on the inside. It hurt too much.

She'd been left enough money in her father's Will to keep living there, in that house, at least for a while. But she couldn't. Selling it had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. She'd grown up there. Her whole life had happened there, and when they'd sold it, it felt like she had left a piece of herself behind. But she wasn't sure what would hurt more, having to see that new family living there, or knowing that it stood empty. Because she couldn't have lived there alone, roaming the empty halls by herself, haunted by the ghosts—even if that was how she felt now. Haunted.

Suddenly, the porch light flicked on and a figure stepped outside clutching their bathrobe closed. The father. The place in which Beth was standing was partially hidden from the man's line of sight thanks to the tree.

"Who's out there?" he called out uncertainly, squinting into the darkness to try and get a better look.

Her first thought was, this would be the guy that dies in the first five minutes of a horror movie. Her second thought was more logical. The man took another step, seemingly to come and investigate. She didn't stick around to see how that would turn out. She got back onto her bike and rode off into the night, leaving the house and the memories behind her.

Like her daddy used to say: they all had jobs to do. And this was hers now, carrying on when all she wanted to do was lie down and cry. She didn't get to be upset.

**AN: Edited: 01/08/2015**


	4. four

**AN: Important note regarding a change in the plot at the end of this chapter. Please read it.**

* * *

><p>The blueberry pancakes did not go over as well as the French toast had.<p>

Beth looked on expectantly as Daryl took his first bite. She watched him as he chewed slowly for a moment and then swallowed. He pulled a face. Not a _I have just been shown the secrets of the universe and I am in love_ kind of face, but a _how do I spit this out into a napkin while still remaining polite_ type of face. He took a second bite, swallowing and then grimacing after that one as well.

"That bad, huh?" she asked.

"They taste kind of . . . sour," he reported.

"Sour," she repeated.

He nodded and began poking around his plate with his fork; probably looking for a piece of pancake that hadn't been contaminated by the berries. He came up empty, and placed his utensil down.

"Well, I guess this means you aren't a blueberry fan," she noted. "I'll have to scratch that off the list."

He tilted his head in interest. "There's a list?"

She nodded. "A mental one that I'm compiling of all the foods that I strongly believe that every human being should try at least once," she informed him.

"Better luck next time then?" he joked, giving Beth an entertained smirk. Then he moved to get up.

Beth held out a hand to stop him. "Wait. I should get you something else if you aren't gonna eat this."

He waved her off, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "Nah, that's fine. I gotta go anyway. I'm doing a double today." He placed the money for the pancakes down on the counter — and again with a big tip — and pushed it toward her.

She pushed it right back. "I'm not gonna make you pay. You didn't even eat it."

"I ate like three bites. See here?" He pointed to the empty space on his plate.

"No, you ate like two bites," she disagreed.

He rolled his eyes and gently — but also firmly — pushed the money back toward her. She accepted it that time with only minimal grievances.

"Fine," she huffed. "But you're gonna like the next one. No blueberries. I promise."

His lips curved upwards, and he rose from his seat. "See you tomorrow," he said. And then he blanched at his own forward assumption. "Or, uh, something. The next day. Whenever." He shrugged.

She smirked at his discomfort. It was kind of endearing in a quirky sort of way. "See you then," she agreed with a nod. "Have fun at work."

He blew air out of his nose in wry amusement. "Yeah, 'cause driving around rude and smelly people all day is my idea of fun."

"Do your best then?" she tried. "Think of the paycheck you'll be getting at the end of the week?"

He pointed at her as he headed to the door. "Now you're talking!" he encouraged, and then pushed outside. He lifted his arm in a wave as he passed in front of the glass storefront, and she wiggled her fingers at him in return. Then he hopped into his cab and drove off.

Tara and Rosita were on her before she even had the chance to clear away his plate.

"Who was _that_?" Rosita demanded, her eyes shining with interest.

"That was my best friend," Noah piped up from behind them.

"Your best friend is _hot,_" Rosita said pretending to fan herself

_Lord help me_, Beth thought before diving into the conversation. It was best to just get it over with; like ripping off a Band-Aid. "That was just Daryl," she informed them, and then tried to push past them to the kitchen in a way to end the conversation before it got started.

Tara blocked her path. "Oh, _just_ Daryl?" she quoted.

Beth merely rolled her eyes. "Yes. _Just_ Daryl. A _customer_ at the diner. You know, where we work? And the people that we are paid to interact with?"

"Oh, so that's what that was?" Rosita asked, her tone portraying just how much she didn't believe that. "You just_ interacting_ with a customer?"

"Yes," Beth informed them. And it was, and he was. Even given the fact that she was currently gathering a list of foods that she was going to have him try; but that was her being a humanitarian more than anything else. You just don't encounter a poor soul who hasn't tasted the finer things in life every day. Daryl had to be educated on these things that he was missing out on, and Beth had taken on the task, because in a world with so much bad sometimes you just needed a plate of edible goodness. It was the right thing to do.

Plus, there was the added bonus that her mental menu gave her mind someplace safe to go when she needed an escape.

"I don't know about that. They looked pretty chummy when I left them here the other night. _Alone_." Noah put in, drawing out the last word in a sing-song voice. Beth immediately shot him a glare because he was _not helping_, and he just grinned at her. The traitor.

"No way!" Tara cried, at the same time that Rosita exclaimed, "Are you two like together? Holy shit! Are you finally dating someone?"

Beth managed to catch a glimpse of Zach's kicked-puppy face as he headed past them into the kitchen, which didn't make her feel great but also didn't make her feel bad either. If anything it only served to annoy her.

"No!" she insisted sharply. "We aren't together. I barely know him."

"Well then what are you waiting for?" Rosita demanded. And Beth wanted to reply, _I could ask you the same thing about Abraham_, but then Carol came walking over and saved her the trouble.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Leave the girl alone, and get back to work," Carol said. "There are customers waiting."

They all grumbled their apologies, but did as they were told.

"Thank you," Beth huffed gratefully.

"Not a problem," Carol assured her. But then she leaned in close. "He was pretty cute though," she said and then proceeded to wink at her.

_Oh my god_, Beth bemoaned. _They're all vultures_. They were almost as bad as Maggie; and they all needed to get a hobby, she decided. Or at least focus on their damn jobs and leave her the hell alone.

* * *

><p>Speaking of Maggie, Beth should have known that her sister wouldn't actually go an entire week after their fight without trying to fix things. Of course she wouldn't have.<p>

Beth had finally checked her phone. After plugging it in and letting it charge for a few minutes, she turned it on and was instantly greeted with fifteen missed phone calls and almost twice as many unread texts. And they all said pretty much the same thing. _I'm sorry. Please call me back. We need to talk about this. I love you._ And when Beth hadn't responded to any of that, of course she would have tried to check on her through a different channel.

And that channel happened to go by the name of Lori Grimes.

When Lori entered the Wayside with Carl, who she handed off to Carol who then handed him off to a still very pouty Zach to start his training, she gave Beth A Look. And with the look, Beth immediately smelled trouble.

"Hey!" Beth greeted her in a jaunty voice, because even with the growing sense of impending doom looming over her, she was still happy to see Lori.

"Hey!" Lori greeted her just as cheerfully. "It's been a while."

"It has," Beth agreed. "What are you doing here? I thought Rick was supposed to be the one bringing Carl by?"

Lori's smile faltered ever so slightly. "Yeah, he was. But today's his day off, and I wanted to give him some daddy-daughter time with Judith. Little girl's growin' like a weed."

"Well that's nice. They doing anything special?"

"Oh, you know, going to the park. Nothing big." Then her face changed. "Listen, I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

Beth's smile tightened. That was never a good sentence. It actually might have been the worst sentence. _I wanted to talk to you about something. _When that was the lead in to a conversation you never usually liked what came after.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, feigning curiosity even though she already had a good idea of what it was about. Because what else could it be?

"Yeah," Lori said. And then she tilted her head, giving Beth a careful, caring look. "Is everything okay?"

This was what Beth didn't understand, why people kept asking her that question. Of course she wasn't okay. How could she be? And they all knew damn well that she wasn't, but they still insisted on asking.

And it was because they wanted to say _something_ to her to let her know that they cared, but they didn't know what to say. So they always went with the generic, '_Are you okay?_' Honestly, she'd rather they just said nothing. Save everyone the trouble.

And it wasn't like it was even worth talking about anyway. Talking wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring her family back from the dead, and it wouldn't bring her sister back from Florida.

So when someone asked her if she was okay, did they really expect a truthful response? The answer was no. Nobody actually wanted the truth, because if they expected her to give it to them, they wouldn't have asked in the first place. So she always gave the answer that they wanted to hear, and hoped that the conversation would be over soon.

"Yeah," she told her. "Everything's all good."

Lori made a face like she really wanted to believe her, but already had reason not to. And there it was.

She leaned in a little closer. "Are you sure? Because I talked to Maggie yesterday and—"

"Everything is fine," Beth interrupted her sharply, and Lori blinked a few times in surprise.

And she wanted to be angry with Lori, and with everyone else who tried to stick their noses into her life like they knew what was best or thought that they were helping by trying to fix her—and a lot of the time she was. She was angry at everyone; people who wanted her to talk about it, her parents, her brother, Jimmy, Maggie, herself, the world. But it never stayed.

That anger always ended up fading into something else. Something that burrowed deep inside of her chest and latched on, slowly spreading its way throughout her body and turning her into something that she didn't want to be. It was overwhelming rage and crippling despair. It was feeling everything and nothing all at once. She was quick to anger, and slow to let go of that anger; instead electing to push everything down like a trash compactor, just to make room for more shit to be thrown on top of the pile.

It was like a storm inside her body, not knowing what was up or down, not knowing how to deal with all of these _feelings_.

And that wasn't how she was brought up. She was brought up to care too much, to be compassionate and forgiving and understanding. She was brought up to talk about her feelings and deal with them in a healthy way. And she was trying desperately not to lose that, because a lot of the time she felt like it was the only thing that she had left of her parents—the person that she used to be. And the fact that she felt like that person was slowly slipping away while the shadow of who she once was took its place made her feel _sick_.

And Beth wanted to let herself appreciate what Lori was trying to do, she really did, but it was _hard_. It was hard to let go of something she'd been holding onto for so long. But, goddammit she tried.

She softened her tone and tried to smile. She wasn't sure how well it worked, probably not at all, but she tried and that was what mattered. "We're just having a fight," she told her. "You know how sisters are. We'll be fine, really."

Lori reached out a hand and clasped Beth's arm, and she let her—even though nearly every fiber of her being wanted to shake her off. But there was still the old Beth, buried deep down, that took solace in the act of comfort. Deep, deep down.

"You should call her," Lori said. "Maggie. She's worried about you."

Beth gave a short nod. "I will. When I have time."

Lori smiled sadly and nodded. "Okay," she said. Then she let her hand fall from Beth's arm.

"Well," she said. "I better get going." She looked over toward Carl who was shadowing Zach as he went around clearing off tables, and Lori smiled again, happier this time. Then she looked back at Beth. "You should come by for dinner sometime. It's been too long since we've done that."

_Three years_, Beth thought. And they were missing people now.

"I'd like that," she said with absolutely no intention of following through.

Lori had a look on her face like she already knew it too. This was Beth's life now, a string of unfulfilled promises.

"Good," she said, giving Beth a meaningful look. And then she was gone, leaving Beth to try and subdue the rising tide inside herself.

_Today,_ she told herself. _I'm going to call her today._

* * *

><p>The rest of her shift flew by, but that was probably because she was willing it to slow down or even screech to a halt indefinitely; because once she walked out those doors it started the countdown of the moment that she would arrive back at her apartment and no longer have a viable excuse for not calling her sister.<p>

The moment of truth came only after she took the long way home, ate her dinner slowly, took an extra-long shower, and put on her pajamas. She sat cross-legged in the center of her bed; the only sound in the apartment was the whirling of her own mind. She didn't turn on the TV or the radio for once, wanting her attention to be focused.

She took a deep breath before hitting call.

The phone rang once, twice, and Beth considered just hanging up and stuffing the phone under her mattress and electing to never, ever have to deal with what waited on the other end of the call. But Maggie answered on the third ring, and Beth resigned herself to her fate.

"You are so goddamned lucky. I was just about to start looking into flights to Georgia," Maggie said in greeting.

Beth was unsurprised as she hadn't expected anything less, but even still, she winced. "Well, you can save yourself the trouble and just chew me out right now. No airfare necessary," she replied.

Maggie sighed. "Beth, I don't want to yell at you. Yeah, I'm really mad at you, but I don't want to fight. I was worried about you all week. I even called Lori."

"I know. I talked to her." She tried not to sound resentful about it.

When Maggie spoke again she sounded tired. "What happened to us, Beth? How did we get here?"

_You left me_, Beth wanted to say. _You left me when I needed you the most. That's what happened._

But she didn't say that. She didn't say that because it would be unnecessarily cruel, and not wholly true. Because Maggie had asked her to come with them, to get a new start, and Beth had said no. She had elected to stay behind with the ghosts. This was of her own making, and she knew that.

So instead she said, "I don't know, but I hate it."

"So do I," Maggie agreed. "So Glenn and I have been talking, and we want you to come down for Christmas and stay with us for a week or two. I know that's a still few months away, but I think it would be good for us to spend some time together and try and fix things."

Beth was suddenly at a loss for words. She expected yelling. She'd expecting more fighting. She prepared herself for that. What she hadn't expected was Maggie offering an olive branch, and now she didn't know what to do with that.

"I don't know," she said slowly. "I have work and I can't just take off . . ."

"Oh, don't give me that," Maggie huffed. "You put in more than enough hours at that diner, and I'm positive that Carol would be more than willing to give you a week or two off." Then her tone softened and she was almost pleading. "C'mon, Beth. We need this. You know we do. And you could finally see the house. And Jameson. I don't want him to grow up not knowing you."

Beth was quiet for a few moments, contemplative.

"I know you're just trying to think of an excuse not to come," Maggie said, and fine that may have true. "But don't bother. I'm buying your ticket. No excuses."

And then she made her decision. It was a simple one really, at least objectively. She had just been saying that she didn't want to lose who she used to be. So she did the thing that her parents would have wanted her to. She did the thing that the old her would have done. She agreed.

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay."

"Wait, really?" Maggie asked, sounding surprised. And that made Beth feel guilty, that her sister had had such little faith in her, but she couldn't blame her. She almost hadn't said yes.

Maggie went on, "Okay, great. Great. I'll book everything and then send you the information. How does that sound?"

"You don't have to do that," she protested. "I can pay for it myself."

"No. Absolutely not," Maggie insisted. "Think of it as our present to you." She was probably nervous that Beth wouldn't actually book it. That was why she wanted to do it herself. So she could have the assurance.

"Alright," Beth said slowly. "Well, thank you."

"No," Maggie said quietly. "_Thank you_."

When her and Maggie hung up fifteen minutes later with the promise to talk again next week after making some attempt at normal conversation, Beth planted herself on the couch in front of the TV. Now that her phone call was over she could turn it on in good conscience.

She'd come to the conclusion that the trip to Florida would go one of two ways. Either it would be really good for them, or really bad. It would either salvage her relationship with her sister, or damage it beyond repair. She could only hope for the best, but had five months to fear the worst.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, she made her attention drift elsewhere. She settled on trying to decide what the next meal that she would have Daryl try would be. That was safe, simple.

She considered it as The National Geographic Channel and a baby deer separated from its mother and fighting for survival on its own served as background noise.

**AN:This is actually an important note regarding the plot, so if you don't usually read the notes please read this one. **

**I decided to change an aspect of the plot regarding how Beth and Maggie's family died. I didn't like what I had, and I figured, hey we're only a few chapters in so what the hell. So what I did was changed it from three separate events to one accident that they all died in. It's not vital that you go back and re-read (but if you wanted to there are changes in chapter two after Beth and Maggie's phone conversation, and very minor changes in chapter three). Besides that, nothing else changed. **

**So, sorry about that! But I wasn't happy with it and its been nagging me for the last week, so.**

**On a different note, thank you guys for the love so far! I'm glad you're liking it. I know its kinda angsty now and there has been limited Beth/Daryl interaction, but the future is bright regarding both those things. (:**

**Thank you again! x**x


	5. five

The Georgia heat during the month of July was cruel and unforgiving.

The moment that Beth stepped outside of her apartment building the heat hit her like a ton of bricks. The air felt thick and damp and heavy. It was the type of heat that could only be supplied by the humidity that Georgia had to offer. Just taking a few steps out the door already made it feel like all of her limbs were moving in slow motion, like she was trying to walk underwater; but with the added heat it felt more like trying to wade through lava.

In other words, it was disgusting and uncomfortable.

Why her bike had had to get a flat tire on — what was, according to the weather man — the hottest day of the year so far, she didn't know. All that she could assume was that Fate and Mother Nature were in cahoots and conspiring against her for their own senses of sick, sadistic amusement. And to make matters worse, she hadn't noticed the sad and pathetic looking deflated back tire of her usually trusty blue Schwinn until she'd been about to walk out the door, meaning that now she was undoubtedly going to be late to work.

Even if she ran the entire way to the diner she still wouldn't make it on time. The fifteen minute bike ride translated into a half an hour walk easily, possibly more when this heat already made it feel like she was moving at half speed.

Briefly, she considered calling Noah and asking him to pick her up, weighing whether or not the five minute car ride would be worth the mental trauma. Ultimately, and unsurprisingly, she decided against it. The few times that she'd set foot in a car since the accident — three to be exact — had been necessary and unavoidable, and also agonizing. She'd hated every single millisecond of being trapped inside of the metal deathtraps. But having to go with Noah to the hospital after he'd almost chopped off his finger, the day that it was quite literally a monsoon outside, and when that lunatic was running around town with a gun, had all been situations that hadn't allowed for her bike to be considered a viable option — though she had tried. (But really, she hadn't been willing to risk Noah passing out from blood loss because she refused to get in the car and accompany him and Tara to the emergency room, and Carol had been adamant that during the other two situations she wasn't to even _think_ about trying to ride her bike.)

This however wasn't one of those times, and she was perfectly capable of walking, even if she would rather eat nails than do so, (which was only a slight overreaction when it came to this heat). So instead of calling Noah, she pulled out her cell phone and sent Carol a quick text letting her know that she'd be running a few minutes late.

Then, resigned to her fate, she started off down the sidewalk. The polyester of her uniform — possibly the worst fabric that she could be wearing today, besides maybe wool, because it _did not breathe_ — was already sitting uncomfortably due to the layer of sweat that by this time had coated her body. She pulled at it to try to stop the fabric from chaffing at her skin to no avail.

It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

><p>By the time that she made it to the diner exactly thirty-seven minutes later — the extra time accounting for the two times that she had to stop and catch her breath, and wow she was really out of shape — she had declared the sun Public Enemy Number One. What gave that big yellow ball of space gas <em>the right <em>to make it so goddamned hot? No one had asked it to do that.

She was drenched in sweat, it practically dripping onto the floor beneath her feet. Her hair was plastered to her face, and she could only pray to the Heavens that she didn't smell. The cool burst of air conditioning that hit her as she stepped through the doors of the Wayside was a sweet relief. It was like she'd escaped from the fiery pits of Hell and surfaced in frozen Antarctica. Refreshing. She sighed in absolute pleasure and let the cold air encase her.

When she went behind the counter to retrieve her apron, Noah took one look at her and said, "Yikes." She could already feel the heat radiating from the kitchen through the tiny window, and was dreading the moment where she'd be forced to go back there.

Beth gave him an annoyed looked, but was too tired for just about anything else. And now she was supposed to do an eight hour shift on her feet? Ha. Good luck with that.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"My bike had a flat tire," she replied flatly. "I had to walk here."

"Ugh, same," Rosita groaned coming up behind her. "My car wouldn't start."

Beth turned around to find a still very much put together looking Rosita. The only evidence that she was even slightly affected by the heat was the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. That did nothing but fill Beth would an extreme amount of jealously. How in the hell—

Interrupting Beth's thoughts, Tara heavily dropped her elbows down onto the counter next to where Eugene was sitting and flipping through a comic book. He hadn't even glanced up when Beth had come in, but he did now, shifting his attention to Tara.

"What is it about the whole lesbian thing that guys can't seem to grasp?" she asked in a voice that suggested that she spent a great deal of time trying to find the answer to that question.

"Why, what happened?" Eugene asked actually looking concerned. The only person that Beth had ever seen Eugene show any sort of interest in was Tara. Everyone else he made sure to make it clear that he did not care about what you had to say, and that you were most likely disturbing him by saying it. Tara though, he adored her. And she put up with his strange tendencies and awful hair, so Beth thought that they were a pretty good match.

"See handsome but creepy barista guy sitting alone at table seven and reading poetry?"

Four pairs of eyes moved simultaneously.

"Not all at once!" Tara hissed. "You amateurs!"

They all averted their eyes quickly, and then looked at different intervals. When it was Beth's turn to look she took him in slowly. He was in his mid-to-late twenty's with dark brown hair. He was wearing a yellow flannel and a beanie and a pair of black framed glasses, that if Beth had to guess she would say that he didn't have a prescription for. He had a cup of tea and a thick book on the table in front of him. And even from where she was, she could tell that he literally exuded pretention.

"He's been coming in here for the past few days trying to get me to go out with him. I told him that I was playing for the other team, but he doesn't seem to care," Tara told them with an exasperated sigh.

"Would you like me to go and speak with him?" Eugene asked her, a deep frown on his face.

Tara smiled at him warmly. "No. He's not being aggressive or anything, just weird. Like he keeps offering to read me poetry from that book he's got." She shrugged. "I can't handle it."

Eugene nodded once. "Alright. If you change your mind, let me know."

Beth kind of wished that she would change her mind. That was something that she'd want to see.

"Hm," Rosita hummed. "He is hot though. Too bad he's an ass and looks like the type of guy that would try and lecture you on the merits of indie music while condemning anything mainstream if you accidentally got stuck in a conversation with him."

Beth snorted at how right she was.

"I know, right?" Tara said. "What a waste."

Noah's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait, but you're a lesbian."

Tara rolled her eyes, looking like this was also something that she had to deal with often. "I'm gay, numbnuts. Not blind."

Eugene turned to glare at him, and Tara gave him an affection pat on the arm.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Noah stammered.

Tara waved him off, already moving on. "Like does he have a sister? I'd be interested in meeting her with those family genes."

"I don't know," Noah said, recovering himself. "For some reason I'm getting a kind of cannibal-y vibe off of him. I can't really explain it, but the dude looks like he eats people."

They all glanced back over at him — Tara included — and watched as he licked the tip of his finger to turn the page of his book.

"Huh," Beth said. She couldn't really explain it either, but she could see it.

"Yeah . . ." Rosita said slowly.

"For some reason I'm inclined to agree with you," Eugene said.

Tara made a popping noise with her mouth. "Well," she said, "his name is Gareth and he works at Starbucks, and now might be a possible cannibal in his spare time, so let's all steer clear of him." And then she added, "Unless of course he has a hot sister."

"Please don't date a possible hipster cannibal's sister," Beth said.

Tara sighed in resignation. "Ugh, fine. Like I've always said, I'm hella gay and hella single. Why go messing with a consistent thing?"

Rosita laughed. "Hey, join the club. We can all be single together. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"Can we get shirts?" Tara asked. "We can put our initials on them and spell something out. Like TERBN, or maybe BERNT. Yeah, BERNT. I like that one better."

* * *

><p>Daryl's shift ended at ten-thirty at night when he dropped off his last passenger of the day.<p>

The guy was a business man — nice suit, expensive haircut, spent the entire ride from the airport yaking on his phone into one of those Bluetooth things. Daryl just didn't get what all the hubbub was about those things. For one, they made you look like a damn fool with that thing clipped onto your head, and another, Daryl had seen enough sci-fi movies to know that any kind of technology kept that close to your brain was usually bad news. But oh well, what did he know? Anything for the sake of being _hands free_.

He dropped the guy off at one of those uppity type hotels by the airport. He'd barely even stopped the car before the guy was throwing money at him over the seat and wrenching the door open. He got out and slammed the car door shut behind him without so much as even a backwards glance.

"Yeah, goodnight to you too, sir!" Daryl yelled after him through the open window as the guy disappeared through the automatic doors into the hotel lobby, his jacket and bag slung over his shoulder flapping behind him. "Stupid business pricks," he muttered to himself.

But then he glanced down at the bills in his lap and grinned. "No, _good_ night to me." He took back what he'd said. Rich business types who most likely didn't even bother to glance at the fare before throwing money at him were his favorite passengers. He'd drive them around until the roads collapsed from underneath them.

When he pulled into the station to drop off his cab and pick up his own truck, he fully intended to go straight back to his apartment afterward. He really did. He said goodnight to Dale who was set up in front of the phones, walked to the backlot when his old navy blue pickup was parked, and started driving himself that direction. But he ended turning around and heading back the way he came when he was nearly there because something was pulling him toward that diner instead.

He had to park about a half a block away. When he got inside he could see why. The place was pretty crowded, for a weeknight at almost eleven o' clock at least. Other than him, there were about ten other groups of people, but they were all younger and it was summer vacation so that wasn't actually too surprising.

The jingling bell above the door had alerted to people inside to his presence, and a waitress with her dark hair tied back into pigtails walked over to him.

"Just you?" she asked, and he nodded. "Table, booth, or counter?"

He found himself scanning the place for Beth before he even fully realized what he was doing. His eyes found her across the room in the middle of a conversation with a table of people about her age. She was smiling, but it looked strange. And she was fidgeting like she was uncomfortable. He watched her for a moment, wondering what it was that had her uneasy like that, and the waitress in front of him followed his gaze. When she saw what — or rather, who — he was looking at, her face changed. Like a lightbulb had gone off in her head.

"Oh," she said, her mouth forming an 'o' shape. The she smiled impishly. "You're that guy. Right. I thought that you looked familiar."

"Huh?" he asked. "That guy?"

"Yeah," she said, looking him up and down appraisingly. He shifted uncomfortably under her eyes. "_Just_ Daryl."

"_Just_ Daryl?" he echoed, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"Mhm." She nodded. "C'mon, Just Daryl. I'll put you at the counter. Beth's working that tonight."

He trailed along behind her in a kind of confused daze. He knew for a fact that he didn't know this girl, but she certainly seemed to know him. She knew his name at least, and his face.

She sat him down at the counter a few seats away from some guy whose hairdo had never left the eighty's and was tap-tap-taping on his computer, and another bored looking waitress who was leaning against the counter next to him and picking at her nails. He was about to ask pigtail waitress — Rosita, according to her nametag — how it was exactly that she knew his name, but she just slapped a menu down in front of him and told him that his server would be right with him.

Actually, she told him that Beth would be right with him, saying it like she was doing him some big favor. Then she walked away to seat another group of people that had just walked in; but stopped briefly to elbow the bored looking waitress in the rips and tip her chin in Daryl's direction.

The bored looking waitress looked over at him, and her demeanor instantly changed at the sight of him. Daryl kept his head angled down, pretending to be focused on the menu as he watched her lean over to whisper something to mullet guy, who then turned to stare at him openly.

At this point Daryl had had just about enough, so he turned and stared right back. The guy seemed unfazed though and he just kept on staring too. And somehow, Daryl had gotten off of work, gotten halfway to his bed, only to turn around and come here to be locked in a staring contest with some random guy who didn't seem to understand the value of a good haircut.

The bored waitress watched them for a few seconds looking kind of horrified, and then she smacked mullet guy in the arm. She hissed something at him, which Daryl was pretty sure sounded like her telling him that he had to learn how to be subtle. Then she turned and fixed Daryl with a bright smile, while mullet guy glared at her looking affronted and rubbed at his arm.

"Sorry about that," she said. Her nametag read Tara. "My friend here has a staring problem. His mother never taught him manners. I'm doing the best that I can to remedy that particular problem, but as you can see, it's a work in progress."

For a few tense seconds, she kept smiling at him and Daryl kept glaring at her.

Then she said, "Sorry again. Your waitress'll be right over," and looked away.

He glared at the both of them for another moment, knowing damn well that there was a joke going on that he hadn't been let in on. Then he too looked away and back at him menu, deciding that before he left this place he would find out what it was.

Next to him, her heard mullet guy mumble, "My mama did in fact teach me manners, thank you very much."

"Then use them, you idiot," Tara muttered back harshly.

A moment later, Beth appeared in front of him. She smiled brightly, looking like she was actually pleased to see him, not shaky and nervous like she had earlier talking to those other people. That took Daryl by surprise — making him forget that he was supposed to be angry, or at least annoyed. He couldn't remember the last time that anyone had actually looked genuinely happy to see him. Years probably, maybe more; and even then, it had most likely just been Merle. He wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Hey!" she greeted him. "I wasn't sure if you were gonna be coming in today. I've been thinking about what to introduce you to next. No blueberries this time."

He wanted to comment on the fact that she'd been thinking about him and what to give him next, or at least take some time to think about what that actually meant. But by then he'd recovered enough to ask, "Why am I getting the feeling that the people here know me?"

She looked confused for a moment, but then understanding crossed over her face and she tightened her jaw. She shifted her eyes, and he did the same, to where Tara, Rosita, and mullet guy were watching them from down the counter. They all looked away guiltily when Beth fixed them with a solid glare — even mullet guy. And Daryl didn't blame them either. He definitely wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that look. It was downright deadly.

"Really, guys?" she said through gritted teeth. "Get a life."

A dinging bell saved any of them from having to respond — and from any more of Beth's wrath.

"Order up! Tara!" a guy called from the kitchen.

Tara made a grab for the plate and scurried away to her table, and Rosita walked away quickly and tried to make herself look busy elsewhere. Mullet guy just shrugged and went back to his laptop.

Daryl recognized the guy working in the kitchen. It was the same one that had called him his best friend the other night and then broke out into song and dance. Weird guy, he recalled.

Song-and-dance guy gave Daryl a nod and said, "Hey, man." Then he turned and grinned at Beth. "Look, it wasn't even me this time!"

Beth sighed at him heavily and gave him a scathing look, and then turned back to Daryl. "Sorry about them," she said. Then she shifted awkwardly. "It's just, the other day when you were in, they saw us talking and, uh, they kinda got the wrong idea."

"Wrong idea?" he repeated as a question.

She smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, uh, they thought that we were like — together?" He squinted at her. "I set them straight," she assured him quickly. "I told them that we don't even really know each other. They were just being annoying. So, uh, sorry."

She finished and then stared at him, waiting for his response. He tried to picture it — him and this girl _together_. In any sense of the word. It was laughable. Like she would ever go for someone like him. It was a nice fantasy though, he thought.

He shrugged. "It's alright." The tension drained out of her expression and she visibly relaxed. "So, what did you have in mind for my next meal?"

She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. "Well," she said, "that depends. Were you thinking breakfast or dinner?"

* * *

><p>Without realizing it, he ended up staying until closing. Or, past closing actually, as he was still there when the other workers left; all of them biding both him and Beth farewell as they headed out the door. They were polite about it — apologized for earlier — but Daryl didn't miss the smirks they shot each other as they left them alone in the diner.<p>

Beth had been busy at first after putting in his order — he'd ended up going with dessert, Oreo cheesecake, which had actually been pretty damn good — having to finish out the rest of her table's orders and get them their checks since they were closing soon. But when her last table had paid and filed out, she'd taken the seat next to him and they'd gotten to talking. The next thing he knew, it was twelve-twenty and everyone was leaving for the night. He'd barely even noticed the passage of time.

Daryl pulled out his wallet and paid — making sure to give the same tip that he had been. It was for her kindness, he decided. The fact that she actually seemed to care that he'd never experienced _the finer things in life_, as she called them. The truth was, after years and years of diner food he'd grown used to the monotony. He could be assured that a burger in one place would be mostly the same as a burger in another. There was a sort of comfort that came from always getting the same things, but after trying the others she'd already given him, he realized that he actually may have been missing out on something. So the tip was for just that. It was a thank you.

They headed outside. It was July, so it wasn't cold out by any sense, but a shiver still ran through him when the night air touched him. Beth pulled her keys out of the lock and double checked the door. Then she slipped the key ring into her bag, and adjusted the strap on her shoulder. She looked up and down the street. "Where's your cab?" she asked.

"I dropped it off after my shift ended." He pointed down the road to where his truck was parked. "That's mine."

"Oh," she said, surveying it from afar. "It's nice."

He turned and looked at it from an outsider's point of view, like she would. It was old and rusted and dented. Even he wouldn't go as far as to call it _nice._ Nice was reserved for expensive things, things that people lusted after. Not his shitty truck.

He snorted. "No, it's a piece of crap."

A flash of something crossed her face, but he couldn't decipher it because it was gone before it was ever really there. But then she smiled, a tiny one, and shrugged. "It can still be nice, even if it's crap. You know what I mean?"

And he was quiet for a moment, because it was one thing for him to get the sentimental value behind the truck, because it was _his_. He'd bought it with his own money. He took care of it and kept it running. He was the one who had driven the entire state of Georgia in it. It had been the only constant that he'd had since Merle had gone away. But she didn't know any of that. And yet it was still like she _got_ it.

"Yeah," he said kind of quietly. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

They looked at each other for another moment, the only noise was the quiet buzzing of the street lights, and then she shifted on her feet and angled her body away from him. She hooked her thumb out and gestured down the street. "I better get going. It's late."

"Yeah," he agreed, taking a step back toward his truck. "I should too."

"Well, goodnight," she said. "I'm glad you liked the cheesecake."

"You too," he said, sticking his hands into his pockets and turning away, "and I did."

They both began walking down the street in opposite directions, and Daryl got halfway to his truck before he stopped and turned back around. "Wait, Beth," he called.

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Where's your bike?" He knew that she had one; she'd said so the other day.

"Flat tire." She shrugged as if to say '_what are you gonna do?'._

"Oh," he said. Then he gestured behind him to his truck. "You want me to give you a lift?"

"No!" she half-shouted immediately, her eyes widening and her whole body tensing up like she was a tightly wound coil.

He hadn't expected the outburst and jumped slightly at the intensity of her tone. And then he frowned in confusion. Why had she—

And then it hit him. Of course. _Of course_, he thought_. I'm such an idiot_. Why would she want to get in a car with him? He was some random guy. She was probably _afraid_ of him and just being polite. That's why she was being a nice. Of course. What an idiot. What an—

"I just—" she started, cutting into his thoughts. "I don't like cars. It's not you. It's the car."

And, oh. He could see now that her wary expression was directed past him; not at him, but at his truck. She was eyeing it like it was a wild animal, and she was afraid that it was about to charge. Tense, uneasy, scared.

"Oh," he said, tipping his head back. "Okay. That's, uh, okay."

"Sorry," she said. And she did look sorry. Her eyes were still wide, but not only with fear. "Thank you though. It was nice of you to offer."

He wondered faintly what the story behind that was, but didn't ask. That wasn't his business. People had all sorts of weird phobias. Hell, Merle was goddamned terrified of clowns. Who was he to pass judgment on her? It was a practical enough fear if you really thought about. Think of all the people that died in car accidents every year. And yet, people still drove them.

He nodded and started walking back to his truck. But again, he only got a few feet before stopping. He paused and rocked back and forth on his feet a few times, thinking, before finally turning around. And she was still there looking at him. She hadn't started walking yet.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. She tilted her head, watching him expectantly. He took a breath. "Do you want me to walk with you?" he asked uncertainly. "To make sure you get home okay? It's late."

She hesitated then. "It's like a half hour walk," said slowly

He shrugged. "I ain't got nowhere I have to be. It would make me feel better, knowing you made it okay."

She thought for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip, before saying, "Okay. I think that would be alright."

He took a few steps toward her. "Only if you're comfortable."

She rolled her eyes at him and waved him ahead. "Oh, c'mon," she huffed playfully.

He jogged over to her, and then they fell into step together.

"You gonna ask to carry my bag for me too?" she quipped, smiling.

"If you want me to," he replied, seriously.

She laughed. "I got it, thanks."

He shrugged lightly and grinned. "Here if you need me."

They walked in quiet for the next few minutes; the only sound was their feet against the pavement. It was nice, he thought. He hadn't actually gone for a walk in a while. He spent nearly every day behind the wheel of a car, and even when he wasn't working he didn't really have the time. Or the motivation. That was more it, if he was being honest. He could be a lazy bastard sometimes.

"So," Beth drawled after some time had passed, breaking the silence. "Daryl. What brings you to town?"

"My brother," he answered honestly.

The shine in her eyes dulled a little at that. There was probably a story there too. "Oh. Does he live around here?"

He considered lying, or at least telling a half-truth because Merle _technically_ did live around here, but he decided against it, because for whatever reason he actually wanted to tell her the truth. And that surprised him.

"Not exactly," he replied carefully.

"What does that mean?"

"He doesn't have a house around here or nothing, he's in jail," he told her bluntly. No sugarcoating it, no trying to make it sound better, just the truth. And then he waited. You could never really tell how someone would react to information like that — not until after. That was why he usually didn't tell anyone. Well, that and the fact that he never really talked to anyone long enough to get to that point in the conversation.

And then, like so many other things she'd already done, Beth's reaction surprised him.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Huh?" Daryl narrowed his eyes, not sure if he heard her right.

"His name," she repeated. "What's your brother's name?"

"Merle," he answered. "His name's Merle." And then she nodded. Like he had just told her that he had a brother named Merle that was an accountant, or something else mundane like that. Not like he had just told her that his brother was behind bars doing hard time.

He waited again after that, for a question that didn't come. They walked a half a block and neither of them said anything. "You can ask," he said finally, with a sigh.

She scrunched up her brow and looked up at him. "Ask what?"

"What he did," he replied shortly. Because that was what people cared about, what they really wanted to know. No exceptions. People always wanted the nitty gritty details.

"That's not any of my business," she replied simply, looking forward. "You can tell me if you want to, but you don't have to." And then she shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal.

Daryl was quiet for another moment. "Drugs," he said. "He was on meth. He got caught with it, and then he got sent away for it." He made it sound short and simple which was nothing like it had been in real life.

"I'm sorry," she said, and it sounded sincere. Not the flat kind of _I'm sorry's_ that people always gave. This sounded real. "That must have been hard for you to go through. I bet you miss him."

And it had been, and he did. Seeing his brother start his downward spiral, start losing control of the habit. Watching him get led away in handcuffs. Not being able to afford a decent lawyer and getting stuck with a shitty public defender provided by the state that didn't give a rat's ass about what happened to Merle. Having to sit through the trial. Having to watch them lead his brother away one final time after sentencing. Having to learn how to be alone afterwards, how to function without him. Those were all things that he didn't like to think about too often, and they were also things that he couldn't help but think about.

He stopped walking suddenly and looked at her, really looked at her. And he could tell right then and there that she knew what he was talking about, what he had gone through. He wasn't sure how, but she knew pain too. And she knew it well. He could see it in her eyes. They were the same eyes that stared back at him every morning when he looked in the mirror.

She stared back at him, looking him in the eyes like a challenge. Like she was daring him to ask her about it. But he didn't, he looked away. And she looked relieved.

"Yeah," he said. "It was hard. And I do miss him." They started walking again.

"Why'd you choose now?" she asked. "To move here."

He had to sidestep an even part of the sidewalk. "He's getting let out soon. I wanted to be nearby."

"What will you two do after? When he gets released?"

"I haven't really put much thought into it." It didn't really matter to him one way or another where they went. Every place was pretty much the same to him.

"Will you leave?" she pressed. "Go someplace new?"

He shrugged, unsure of what she was really trying to get at. "Probably."

She looked contemplative for a moment, and then he thought he may have seen a flicker of a smile. Like she'd figured something out. But he wasn't sure.

A few minutes later they were in front of her building. It was brick, unassuming. She fished around in her bag for her keys and then extracted them triumphantly.

"Thanks for walking me," she said, sticking them into the lock and twisting the door open.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "No problem."

She stuck the keys back into her bag. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I'm working eleven to nine."

She nodded. "Okay. I'm doing a double, so I'll be around pretty much all day if you want to stop by."

The corner of his lip pulled up. "I might take you up on that."

She smiled. "Cool. Well, goodnight. Thanks again."

"'Night."

She stepped into the building and then shut the door behind her. Daryl heard a _click_ as the lock fell back into place. She waved at him through the tiny window next to the door one final time, and he gave a little wave back. Then she disappeared from sight. He stood there for another moment, before heading back the way they'd come.

He couldn't deny that it had made him feel good to finally be able to talk to someone about Merle. Someone who, if Daryl was right, got it. And there had just been something about her that had made him want to talk — when he hadn't spoken to anyone in so long. She seemed honest, like she'd actually meant what she'd said and wasn't just talking shit. And it had felt good to get some of that off of his chest, like now he wasn't the only one carrying around that load. Even if what he had given her was practically nothing when it came to all the crap that he had piled up inside.

He made it about five blocks before a car pulled up beside him. He heard someone whistle and call out his name. He looked to his left and caught sight of Martinez — one of the guys from work — practically hanging out the window of his cab as he pulled over.

He was smoking a cigarette, and it dangled from his mouth as he spoke. "Yo, Daryl! What are you doing walking around at one in the morning?"

Daryl slid up beside his window. "I was just heading back to my truck. I walked someone home."

"Oh yeah?" Martinez asked, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning. "Was she pretty?"

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Oh shut your trap. It ain't like that. She's a—a friend." He rolled the word over in his mouth, and his head. He liked the sound of it. It fit, he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had one — a friend.

"Well, get in. I'll give you a ride back to your truck."

Daryl thanked him gratefully, and headed around the front of the cab and hopped into the passenger seat. He told him where his truck was parked, and Martinez pulled away from the curb.

He looked over at Daryl with a broad grin on his face. "I bet she was pretty."

"Shuddup," Daryl muttered, slouching in his seat. Martinez laughed heartily, and after a moment, even Daryl cracked a tiny smile.

**AN: Consider this the official start to the core of this story. Now we got all of that pesky foundation business out of the way and we can get to the good stuff. Also, I hope you all liked Gareth's cameo. ;)**

**Thanks for all the love! Let me know what you think!**


	6. six

Maybe it was because she'd had to see her old friends the day before, with their ulterior motives for coming to the Wayside besides wanting pancakes at eleven o' clock at night and their _words_. _We miss you, Beth. Why don't you keep in touch, Beth? Why did you cut us out of your life like that, Beth? We just want to be there for you, Beth._ No, thank you.

It had been months since she'd seen any of them — almost two years since she'd had an actual conversation with any of them — and that hadn't been an accident. They'd all been away at university, but even before that she'd cut ties with them. She missed them — Shannon and Kim and Julie and Brent and Andrew — she really did; but they _knew_. They knew about what had happened to her, and she could see it when they looked at her, and she couldn't handle that. Her co-workers knew too, of course, but they hadn't known her then—before. So that was different. Her relationship with the people she worked with was forged out of necessity; she had to continue to interact with them. Her friends though, that had been out of choice, and she'd made her decision.

It hadn't been as hard as you may think, to cut ties with them all after the accident. They'd all gone back to school, and she hadn't. So all she had to do was stop replying to their calls and texts and unannounced visits. It had been simple, really. Too simple that sometimes it scared her at just how _effortless_ it had been. Old her would have never been able to block out of those people who were closest to her, but she wasn't old her anymore. And new her didn't seem to have an issue with it.

But cut to the night before when they all showed up and had gotten themselves seated in her section, she'd been taken off guard. When they'd pressed her and asked her to please just talk to them, she'd almost cracked. Because, like she said, she did miss them. Desperately sometimes. But she didn't crack. She'd held strong, because she didn't have room in her heart to fit the threat of losing them all again. So she'd sucked it up, served them, and reluctantly they'd gone on their way. But then she'd walked home with Daryl, and she'd gotten an idea.

Maybe it was because Daryl didn't know. He didn't know any of it. Not one single detail. He didn't look at her like she was the leftover part of a whole. He didn't know what she used to be like, before.

Maybe it was because they probably wouldn't have been friends before. Not because there was anything wrong with him, but because they would have been different. And that used to mean a lot. It didn't mean shit anymore.

Maybe it was because she was lonely. Maybe it was because she had to find a way to remind herself that she was still alive, that she hadn't died in that car accident right along with them. Maybe she was just running out of ways to fill the silence and she was becoming desperate.

Maybe it was all of those things, or none of them at all; but Beth Greene had made a decision.

She didn't have friends, not really, not anymore. And that was her own doing. But she'd decided that she could make an exception just this once for someone who didn't plan on sticking around to begin with.

It was perfect if you thought about it. It was what she had been waiting for, what she'd needed without realizing it until now. Because with Daryl, she could get all of those things that Maggie was always trying to convince her that she needed: social interaction, fun, human connection. And what she needed for herself: noise, a break in the silence, someone to remind her that she was actually alive and not one of the ghosts that she so often felt like.

And when the time came, when Daryl's brother got released from prison, she could send him on his way with a _thanks for the memories and see you around_. A friendship with an expiration date. Something that she could start by already knowing the ending. Something certain. Something that she had _control_ over.

That way she couldn't form attachments and she couldn't get hurt, because she would know right from the beginning when and how it was going to end. It was the perfect plan. A foolproof plan.

* * *

><p>It was Rosita's day off, so Beth was in charge of hostess duty. She was standing by the door in the middle of the breakfast rush straightening the stack of menus on the podium in front of her when Rick came in to drop off Carl. He had Abraham with him.<p>

Much to everyone's pleasure — and surprise, on Zach's part, not Carl's — Carl had actually been doing pretty well under Zach's instruction. Carol had said that soon he'd be able to handle a shift all on his own. Then Zach would be able to get some time off, and then maybe he'd stop pouting so much. And then, much to Noah's delight, Carol was bringing in interviewees next week to fill the vacant cook position.

Speaking of Zach, he still hadn't really spoken to Beth since she'd turned him down. He'd barely even looked at her. She wanted to feel bad, and she kind of did, but . . . Eventually you just had to suck that sort of thing up and move on with your life. She couldn't change how she felt, and he had to get over that. No amount of sad puppy faces was going to change it.

Carl gave Beth a big smile when he came in, before darting off to put on an apron and find Zach. He barely even gave Rick a goodbye in his excitement. He was definitely one of their more enthusiastic workers, but wait a few months and his gung-ho attitude would probably fade fast.

Rick stopped next to the podium with his hands on his hips and watched Carl go, a smile on his face. "They grow up so fast. I just wish he'd run that fast when we ask him to go clean his room."

"I bet he doesn't get paid to clean his room though," Beth pointed out.

Rick grinned at her. "Fair point."

Abraham stood beside him, craning his neck to look around the diner.

"She has off today," Beth told him with a knowing smile and a shrug. "Sorry."

Abraham frowned in disappointed. "Too bad." But the smiled and inclined his head to her.  
>"But nice to see you, Ms. Greene. As always."<p>

Beth smiled back. "Same to you Officer Ford. Can I get you two a table?"

Rick shook his head. "Nah, we aren't here to eat unfortunately. We're on duty. I just had to pick up Carl and drop him off. Lori took Judith to a doctor's appointment."

"Oh, no," she said, frowning. "Is everything alright?"

He nodded. "Yeah, don't worry. It's just a checkup."

"Oh, okay good," Beth said.

"I'll be in the car," Abraham said, opening the door. "Good to see you, Beth."

She smiled. "You too."

Rick watched him go, waiting until the door closed behind him, and then he turned back to Beth and broke out The Look. Beth grimaced internally. Could she just have one nice day? Just one? The damn Grimes Family and their ulterior motives and need to prove that they cared. _Here goes_, she thought.

Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gave Beth a tiny, awkward smile; probably to try and lighten the weight of what he was about to say to her. This definitely was not his idea. Lori had most likely put him up to it. He probably didn't want to be in the situation any more than she did. Beth's hand curled around the edge of the podium tightly, almost as if she was trying to anchor herself. Rick took a breath.

"I know that Lori talked to you, and I just wanted to see if you made any . . . progress, uh, on that front?" He winced a little bit at his own words, and yeah, Beth knew how he felt.

"It's all worked out," she said. And he looked relieved. He nodded, satisfied. She probably had just made his life a whole lot easier for when he had to go home and face his wife.

"Good. Good. I'm glad. Lori will be happy to hear that. She's worried about you. We both are." And Beth wanted to appreciate the sentiment.

She was saved from having to reply when the door opened and Daryl walked through, like a gift from God — well, at least, he would have been if she'd believed in God anymore. She did breathe a sigh of relief though. He had great timing.

His eyes found her immediately — because she was standing about eight feet from the door and it was kind of hard not to — and he smiled. She waved him over, more than happy to introduce him to Rick and use him as a diversion to escape any more of that conversation.

"'Morning, Daryl!" she greeted him.

At the sight of Rick, Daryl stiffened visibly, his body going tense; but he made his way over anyway. Beth was momentarily confused by his reaction, but then her brain clicked and put the pieces together. It was the uniform; and the fact that he had a gun holstered at his waist probably didn't help. Daryl was uneasy around cops, she realized. And that wasn't surprising, not with everything that happened with his brother.

She thought back to the night before when he'd told her about Merle. She didn't care that his brother was in jail, not the way that he expected her too. He'd expected her to be scared, uncomfortable. But she hadn't been, and she wasn't. The only opinion that she'd had on the matter was that at least he was alive. And when she'd learned that Daryl had stood beside him throughout the whole thing and come to town for him, it had made her wonder. Would Maggie do the same for her? But then she'd thought about it, and she'd realized that she already had her answer. Because here she was in a prison of her own making, and Maggie was nowhere in sight. If anything, Beth was jealous of Daryl's brother. He wasn't alone.

"'Morning," Daryl half-mumbled in reply. Rick was watching him closing, sizing him up.

"Rick, meet Daryl," Beth said, interjecting herself into the potentially tense moment that could develop from Daryl's refusal to look Rick in the eye, and Rick's position as an officer of the law which required him to stare down any new person he met until he was satisfied that they didn't pose a threat. "And Daryl, this is Rick Grimes."

Rick stuck a hand out, and Daryl took it with only brief hesitation. "Pleased to meet you Daryl. You got a last name?"

"Dixon," he answered. And it wasn't until that moment that Beth realized that she'd never learned his last name. Huh. Not a great start to the potential friendship. She'd have to make a mental note to try and learn the basics, and really just remind herself what it was like to have a friend.

"You new in town?" Rick asked.

Daryl nodded. "Yep. Just got in a month or two ago."

"You liking it so far?"

Daryl shrugged and his eyes shifted to Beth for a fraction of a second. "It's alright."

Rick nodded again, looking like he was turning something important over in his mind, and Beth tried really hard not to think of it as him trying to vet Daryl's character on her behalf. Rick nodded one final time in contentment, and then he smiled.

"It was nice to meet you, Daryl. Now if you'll excuse me, duty calls." He looked at Beth and gave her another variation of The Look. This one said something along the lines of _we're all here for you, you poor broken angel_. And then he was out the door.

Beth rubbed at her brow tiredly. That was more than enough touchy-feely business for today. Or this week or forever, even. She shook it off. She was at work, and there wasn't any time for her to dwell on it anyway. Her attention moved to Daryl.

"So, Daryl Dixon," she said. "Never did get your last name before."

"I didn't get yours either," he replied.

"Greene," she told him. And then there was a terrifying moment where she thought that he might hear her name and put it all together. Like he'd heard about the accident and now made the connection between the three Greene's that had died and her. And then it would ruin everything before it even got started, because that was the whole point of him. Someone who didn't look at her like she was the walking dead, the one left behind.

But he didn't. There was absolutely no glimmer of recognition on his face. And she realized that she was being foolish, or paranoid. He'd been all over the state. One measly car accident wouldn't have made the papers wherever he was. She took a breath.

He just repeated her name, "_Beth Greene"_, back to her like it meant something. And then she really didn't know what to do with that either. So she did nothing.

"Alright, now that we've been properly introduced, Mr. Dixon can I sit you down at the counter?"

He shook his head. "I ain't got the time for a sit-down meal. I just came in for a coffee to-go."

"I think we can manage that." She motioned for him to follow her as she made her way across the diner and behind the counter. She pulled a paper to-go cup out from under the counter and poured some of the fresh coffee that Tara had just brewed into it. He took it black, so it was that simple. She pressed the lid onto it and made sure that it was secure before handing it over to him.

"Is it too hot to hold? Do you want one of those cardboard thingies?"

"Nah," he said, taking it from her. "It's fine." He took a sip and made the kind of satisfied face that can only come from drinking good coffee. Or, so she'd been told at least. She'd never actually experienced it herself, because as she'd said earlier she was more of a tea person. Maggie had always been going on about it though, and her father when he was alive; so she believed that it was a thing.

"Did you manage to get your tire fixed? Or did you walked again today?" Daryl asked.

She frowned. "No, I didn't. I walked again this morning." She'd glanced sadly at her bike with its flat tire on her way out the door this morning. The only solace that she had was that since it was still early — really, ridiculously early, like before the sun early — the temperature had still been reasonable. Not like it had been yesterday. But that had been in the middle of the day at the height of the heat, so.

He nodded like that was what he'd expected. It wasn't like she had a lot of time. She and Daryl hadn't made it to her apartment building until around one; and she'd fallen directly into her bed and fell asleep, only to be woken up three and a half hours later by her alarm clock. So she was effectively running on fumes.

"And you're working a double, right?" She nodded in confirmation. "I get off at nine, so I could walk you home again. Uh, if you want, I mean." That last bit was added on a little hastily and awkwardly. She smiled, a real one. One that she was able to actually feel.

"That would be great. Thanks."

He nodded, and then he smiled too. Then he and his coffee left so he could make it to work on time, driving away in his old navy truck.

Behind her, Bob started to sing some love song that she vaguely recognized from the radio. She turned around and gave him an unimpressed look, and he just grinned at her. Again she was struck with the thought that her co-workers _really_ needed to get their own lives. (Even though Bob technically did have his own, very busy life, what with his daughter and everything. But whatever. The idea was still the same. Butt out of her business, basically.)

"You know, in my day, walking a girl home meant—"

"—you're only thirty-six," she interjected.

His smile only widened. "—a lot more than just walking a girl home. If you catch my drift."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up." But he was still smiling, and now she was too, and it must have looked like she was embarrassed about a crush — but he didn't get it. No one did. But it finally felt like _she_ had something all worked out. So she let him think what he wanted. Because she knew what she was doing for once. Or, at least, she thought that she did.

So she took that feeling — that certainty that she'd been missing — and she carried it with her all the way to her front step that night after Daryl had walked her home. And she turned to him with that same, happy smile and said, "I think we should be friends."

He looked at her kind of strangely, and then he got a funny sort of twist to his mouth and a crinkle in the corners of his eyes. "I thought that we were already friends."

And she only grinned broader at that. "No, like real friends. Like the kind of friends that hang out outside of my work."

"Okay," he said. And then they shook on it like they were making some type of business deal. And in Beth's mind, they actually sort of were.

And then that was that, and Beth Greene had a friend again. A temporary one, at least — a friendship for which she already knew the beginning, the middle, and the end.

**AN: My notes for this chapter actually included the line "LOL THESE IDIOTS ARE GOING TO FALL SO IN LOVE HAHA BETH YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING".**

**Thanks for all the love! I'm so happy that people are liking this!**


	7. seven

Daryl Dixon was not nervous. He _wasn't_.

Or, at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

In truth, he wasn't actually sure what the fuck he was feeling. And well, while it wasn't like that was _particularly _abnormal, what with him having the emotional awareness of a rock, it was still a little distressing. Because Daryl Dixon did not get nervous. He prided himself on always being calm, cool, and collected. Actually, that was a lie. He had a bit of a temper. But he didn't get nervous! He really didn't! (About twenty miles away, locked in a jail cell, Merle Dixon was probably laughing his ass off.)

Daryl had just finished up his shift and was on his way to clock out, before heading back to his apartment for a quick shower and to change his clothes. And then from there he was going to meet Beth so they could _hang out_.

Could you still call it hanging out if they were just going to see a movie? It wasn't like they were going to be talking much. Or at all, really. But, he guessed so, because they'd still be in each other's company, uh, hanging out and stuff. Was it obvious that he was way out of his depth here?

Either way, it still felt weird for him to be able to say that, that he had _plans_, because the whole having friends and hanging out thing was new to him. Besides getting a beer with the guys from work a time or two since he'd started at Sunshine Taxi, he hadn't really had anything that could even remotely resemble a social life since before Merle had gone away. So there was that.

And even if he had been thinking of Beth as a friend in his head for a little while now, and when he'd said it to Martinez, when she'd just thrown it out there in plain words and formally asked him if he wanted to friends it had taken him sort of by surprise. Because, really, who did shit like that? It felt kind of like what kids did in grade school. Hand someone a piece of paper that says '_Will you go out with me? Check Yes or No'._ But instead it was, _'Will you be my friend?'_

It was actually kind of cool at the same time though, cutting through all the bullshit right away, something that he himself was a big fan of. He had to respect that aspect of it. And maybe he had to admit that it had also made him feel . . . good, like wanted or whatever. It made him feel like someone besides his brother actually kind of appreciated his company and wanted him around, when he hadn't felt that for a long time; definitely not during these past few years.

And when she'd stuck her hand for him to shake all business-like, well that was still making him smile.

They'd swapped phone numbers and went their separate ways; Beth had gone inside and to bed, and Daryl had walked back to his truck with what might have been a bit more pep in his step than usual. Not that he would admit that, to anyone, ever. And then the next afternoon he'd gotten a call from her to set up plans. They'd debated on getting food or going to a movie, but ultimately decided on the movie because Beth spent too much time as it was in a restaurant, and neither of them had actually gone to a movie theater in years. Daryl was pretty sure the last time he'd seen a movie in theaters was back when Jurassic Park had come out in ninety-three. It had been that long.

So they'd made plans for the following night to go and see some new superhero movie or some crap like that that was popular at the moment, he wasn't exactly sure. And he was decidedly _not nervous_. Except for the fact that he kind of was.

There. He'd admitted it. He was nervous. Shit.

More than anything, he just didn't want to fuck it up. He still had a few more months before Merle got released, and yeah he may have been able to survive the past two years basically alone, but he didn't really want to live like that anymore, never letting anyone in. He was _lonely_. And _that_ was harder for him to admit than you might think. And now he'd met Beth, someone he actually thought that he liked, and he wasn't about to let that slip through his fingers. He'd been alone long enough.

He walked into Dale's office to clock out, and tension must have been radiating off of him because Dale actually looked up at him from the newspaper crossword puzzle that he had smoothed out on the desk in front of him. His glasses were sitting low on his nose and he was tapping a pen against his jaw in contemplation.

Dale tilted his head when he caught sight of Daryl, whose eyebrows were pulled tightly together and was chewing absently on his lip.

"Everything alright, Daryl?" he asked, concern dotting his voice.

Daryl slid his timecard into the machine so that it could punch it and record the time. He looked over his shoulder at Dale. "What?" he asked dumbly. He'd heard him perfectly.

"Are you alright?" Dale repeated. "You look like you swallowed a bug or something." He chuckled lightly at his own joke.

Daryl waved him off. "No. I'm good."

Dale shrugged and looked back down at his crossword, and then clicked his pen a few times. "I know you're lying, but that's your business." Daryl blinked a few times at his forwardness, but Dale didn't linger on the topic long enough for him to reply. Instead he shifted his attention to his puzzle. "Would you happen to know the name of the Greek god of blacksmiths, sculptors, artisans, fire and, er, volcanoes? Ten letters?" He clucked his tongue. "I was never very good at this mythology stuff."

"Hephaestus," Daryl said offhandedly; and if he wasn't so preoccupied worrying about that night he probably would have been pretty proud of himself for knowing the answer. He'd gone through a brief Greek mythology obsession when he was a kid. Heroes and gods and monsters and battles and magic and adventures and all that crap. It had all seemed pretty cool to him at the time; hell, it was still pretty cool. He hadn't kept it up long though. Merle had ragged on him for it, of course, and he'd dropped it around the time that he was fifteen. Apparently the knowledge stuck with him. Personally, Hades had always been his favorite God. Just minding his own business down in the Underworld with his wife and his three headed dog, while all the other Gods fucked a bunch of shit up. He could really appreciate that in a person, minding their own business and just living their life. That was all that he wanted to do.

Dale counted out the amount of letters and spaces and then grinned jauntily. "It fits!" He filled it in happily, and then he set the pen on the desk and focused his attention back on Daryl. "Now that you've helped me with that, I have another favor to ask."

"Shoot," Daryl said. The guy gave him a job after he'd walked in off the street. He could have all the favors he wanted as far as he was concerned.

"Would you be willing to help me and the Missus clean out our garage this weekend? I know it's your day off, but I'm not as young as I used to be, and I could use some extra muscle. I'm getting Andrea and that boyfriend of hers to come along too, so you'd have help. The clutters so damn bad it's only a matter of time until we end up on an episode of Hoarders."

Daryl snorted. "Sure thing." His decision had been made before Dale had even opened his mouth.

Dale clapped his hands together and smiled. "Good man, Daryl!" Then he scribbled down his address on a ripped off of the corner of the newspaper and pressed it into Daryl's hand. "How does Saturday around eleven sound?"

"Sounds great," he said, pocketing the paper.

Dale smiled again. "That's just great, thank you! And Irma will sure be happy that she's finally getting to meet you. She's been nagging me about meeting the new addition to the Sunshine family since you started."

Daryl rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite sure how he felt about the fond way that Dale was looking at him. "I'd like to meet her to," he managed.

Dale nodded and then waved his hand, motioning for Daryl to leave. "Alright, get out of here. I don't wanna hold you up anymore. I know you got a big date tonight."

Daryl's head snapped up and his eyes bugged out. "What?" he spluttered. "Who told you that?" He hadn't told anyone about what he was doing that night, _which_ _wasn't a date_ _by the way_.

Dale smiled slyly. "No one had to tell me, son. It's written all over you, all stiff and nervous. I was the same way the first time I went out with Irma." His smile turned nostalgic.

"It ain't a date," Daryl said gruffly. "I'm just hanging out with a friend."

Dale held up a hand and tried to look apologetic. He didn't quite manage it. He still had on a face like he knew something that Daryl didn't. Which _he_ didn't. "My mistake. But you still better scoot. Wouldn't want to keep that friend of yours waiting."

Daryl frowned at him in annoyance, but ducked out the door and made his escape just the same.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Daryl stood outside the Black Tie Cinema trying and failing to smoke away his nerves. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why the hell it was called that — <em>Black Tie Cinema<em> — because he definitely wasn't wearing black tie apparel, and neither were any of the other people he'd seen going in and out of the place. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a gray flannel; nowhere close to black tie. Plus, the name sounded fucking stupid for a tiny town in the middle of Georgia, but hey, anything for that air of sophistication. (Insert eye roll here.)

Beth was meeting him there, so he was pacing up and down the short expanse of sidewalk in front of the place as he smoked and waited. He'd been there for about twenty minutes already, because he couldn't take sitting at home and staring at the wall and stressing anymore so he'd shown up early. There was a teenager working in the ticket booth that kept staring at him as he paced back and forth like he was some loon, but he didn't give a shit. His plate was already full when it came to things to care about at the moment.

He'd already burned through one cigarette and immediately lit another. He didn't get the chance to finish the second one though, because a few minutes later he watched Beth, sans bike, turn the corner and begin walking down the block toward him. She caught sight of him and raised a hand in a wave, and he waved back. Then he bent down and swiped his cigarette on the ground a few times to stub it out, and then stuck it back into the pack — which might have been unsanitary, but hey, cigarettes were fucking expensive. A moment later she was standing in front of him with a big smile on her face, and in that moment he could feel his nerves begin to melt away. He couldn't even remember why he'd been nervous in the first place. It was just Beth. She was nice. The girl probably didn't have a bad bone in her body. He'd just been being an idiot (surprise, surprise). He had nothing to fret over.

"Hey!" she greeted him. This was the first time he'd seen her out of her diner uniform, which made him take pause for a moment. She had her hair down and hanging around her face in some loose curls instead of pulled back in a ponytail, and she had on jeans and some kind of flowy white shirt. She was also wearing sandals instead of those sensible work shoes of hers. She looked nice. Well, let him amend that. She looked nice in her uniform too, but this was a different type of nice. She looked carefree almost.

"Hey," he replied.

"You ready to see the movie?" she asked.

He nodded. "Sure am."

"Then let's do it."

"After you then," he said gesturing for her to go ahead.

He knew that it wasn't a date, and he didn't want it to be one. With how fucked up his life was the last thing that he needed to do was add a relationship on top of that, and he had a hunch that Beth probably felt the same way. That didn't stop him from trying to pay for their movie tickets though. He may not have had what one would consider a _proper_ or _normal_ upbringing, but that didn't mean that he didn't know what manners and chivalry and all that crap was, thank you very much.

So he stepped up to the ticket booth in front of Beth, and told the poor sap of a gangly, pimply teenage boy who would probably rather not be working at a movie theater at ten o' clock on a Wednesday night that he would like two tickets. (He thought about tacking on a please for good measure, but that just didn't seem very _him_. He was trying to be polite to Beth, not this kid.) The bored looking kid's eyes were glazed over as he tapped at his screen and made the printer spit out the tickets.

Daryl moved to pull out his wallet, and glanced at Beth out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him with narrowed eyes, like she wasn't sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. He stopped mid-reach to his pocket. "What?" he asked hesitantly.

Her eyes narrowed further, but the expression on her face made it look like she'd settled on amused. She arched a playful eyebrow. "You know I can pay for myself, right?"

He shrugged. "I know. I just thought. . ." He trailed off and shrugged again.

She took a step closer to him and cocked her head to the side. A smirk was fighting to make its way across her lips. "Thought what?"

"Just thought that I would pay. Be polite and crap." He started chewing on his lip. Was she really about to fight him on who was going to pay for the tickets? Who was this girl? He thought that they loved this sort of shit. That was always how it was on TV and in movies. But apparently he was wrong. It wouldn't have been the first time. And it wasn't like he knowledgeable about this whole dating stuff. Not that this was a date. Because it wasn't.

"Can one of you just pay?" the teller droned, forcing them to break their stating contest. "You're holding up the line."

One glance over Daryl's shoulder revealed no one standing behind them. In fact, they were the only two people standing outside on the entire block. He turned back around to glare at the kid, but before he could tell him a thing or two about customer service, Beth bumped him with her hip to nudge him out of the way. He stepped over obligingly, and she pulled out her own wallet and fixed the teller with a bright smile. The kid straightened up almost immediately at the sight of her.

"How much was that again?" she asked sweetly. The kid repeated the total, and she fished around in her wallet and pulled out the bills. She gave him the money, and he slid her the tickets. She smiled at him once more, and then turned and handed Daryl his ticket and patted his shoulder. "You can get 'em next time," she told him. And then she breezed past him and into the building.

Daryl stared after her for a moment in a sort of awe and confusion over what had just transpired. He was supposed to be buying those tickets. He'd had a plan. It had been all worked out in his head.

Behind him, the kid made a sound of annoyance. He had his hands raised in exasperation. "Well what are you waiting for?! You don't make a girl like that wait, buddy. Jesus, if I were you I'd be running along behind her like a fucking puppy!"

Daryl gave him a strange look and walked away, heading after Beth. He shook his head as he pushed into the building. Weird fucking kid.

* * *

><p>Beth and Daryl were greeted with an empty theater. Which, given the fact that it was a Wednesday night a ten o' clock, wasn't actually surprising.<p>

Beth had to admit, she'd been kind of nervous about tonight. It had been so long since she'd done anything like this that she'd worried that she'd forgotten how. But once she gotten there and saw him looking just as wound up as she felt, it was all okay after that. She'd teased him about the tickets, while at the same time reminding him that she was a woman who could take care of herself, and it seemed that they were good to go now. All tension soothed.

"Well this looks like it's gonna be a good movie," Daryl joked.

Beth hit his arm lightly and grinned. "Don't be rude. People aren't here because it's late. This could be the best movie of your life."

"Or the worst," he replied.

"Well, with that attitude what can you expect?" she countered. And he smiled at her.

They picked their seats — dead center of the theater, because why not — just as the lights were beginning to dim. They were mostly quite throughout the trailers and the first few minutes of the movie. All the way up until the hero came onto the screen in all of his spandexed glory. Beside her, Daryl snorted.

"Nice tights."

"They are," Beth agreed. "Very heroic. Couldn't save the planet without 'em."

Daryl turned in his seat to look at her head-on. "Yeah? That like a rule or something?"

She nodded seriously. "It's a fundamental rule of the universe. It's impossible to have a hero that doesn't wear a skintight uniform."

"And why's that?"

She smiled sweetly. "To show off their, ahem, _ass_ets."

He held her gaze for a moment and tried to keep his expression stoic, but then a tiny smile started creeping across his face. He was able to hold out for another few seconds, but then he cracked, and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Or, at least Beth did. She didn't think that Daryl would take too kindly to having his laugh being described as a giggle. It was a manly giggle. If that was actually a thing that existed?

From there, it was all over. Any chance of them keeping their mouths shut during that movie and actually paying attention were dashed.

She laughed more during those two hours than she had in the past three years. In truth, if you asked her what the movie was about, she really wouldn't have even been able to tell you. There was a hero, a villain, some explosions maybe. Any major plot point beside that was lost on her. Because she'd spend the entire two hours of it talking to Daryl. Hell, she wasn't even sure if they have been able to get through even five minutes of it without one of them opening their mouths to make some asinine or ridiculous comment about what was happening on the screen, or just anything in general.

Like really, they'd somehow managed to get into a debate about the merits of archery in modern society after seeing one of the hero's random friends whip one out to fight the bad guy, which lasted nearly twenty minutes—through the climax of the film, oops. (Daryl had been firmly on the pro side, because apparently he knew how to shoot a crossbow, and he was pretty good at it—or so he claimed. Who knew?)

They didn't talk too much about themselves though, nothing below the superficial level. The last thing that Beth wanted to do was to dive into her past during the time that she was making to distract her from exactly that. She doubted that she would ever tell Daryl about what had happened. That wasn't saying that she would go out of her way to lie about it, but she wasn't going to bring it up, and she doubted that Daryl would either. He didn't seem like the type to pry, which she liked. That was a good quality for a temporary friend to have.

By the time the credits began to roll and the lights came up, it was well after midnight. Lucky for her she only lived a block away from the theater.

They walked back in a companionable silence, both of them tired, but in good moods. _A good mood. Huh. Would you look at that. _

It wasn't like she'd spent the last three years being completely miserable at every moment; she hadn't. But it had been a while since she'd had an overall feeling of _contentment_. Like she was satisfied with how things were in this one moment, here, with Daryl. It was weird, but oddly comfortable. A nice change.

"See you tomorrow for breakfast?" she asked when they made it to her door.

"A late-night breakfast?" he suggested. "I'm working until eight."

She nodded once in agreement and smiled. "I look forward to it."

**AN:It has gotten to the point that I can no longer stare at this chapter and maintain my sanity at the same time. I wanted to have this one out sooner, but it was being difficult.**

**In case anyone is interested, from now on I will be posting status updates for this story on my tumblr eternity-is-not-on-our-side (which is my side blog that I only use for my writing). Also, my main blog is -wedontstandachance if anyone wants to come hang and watch me cry about bethyl and other various TV shows that aren't going my way. See you guys back here for the next one!**


	8. eight

It was _hot_. Fry an egg on the sidewalk, bake cookies on the dashboard of your car kind of hot.

Daryl wiped his brow with the back of his hand and hauled the last of the boxes from the initially very large and intimidating pile overtaking Dale and Irma's garage to the bed of his truck. He shoved it in along with the others and slammed the hatch closed and then slumped against it. They'd been at it for nearly four hours — him, Andrea, and her boyfriend Shane — and when they'd gotten there cardboard boxes, and a bunch of other crap that had probably been lying around for as long as Daryl had been alive, had been packed from nearly floor to ceiling in the two-car garage. Now it was more or less clear. And their job was done. Thank the lord.

Daryl glanced to his left where Shane was depositing his last box into the bed of his own truck. Andrea was sitting on the curd under the shade of a tree, leaning her head against her hand. She'd dropped herself down from near exhaustion about fifteen minutes prior, and now she was try very hard to stay conscious. Shane plopped down next to her and nudged her leg. She looked up at him.

"All done?" she asked hopefully.

Shane nodded. "That was the last one," he confirmed. She sighed heavily in relief.

"Daryl, how're you doing over there?" she called, shifting to him look at him.

"Faring 'bout the same as you two," he replied. He was hot and sweaty and more than ready to just pass out and sleep for like a thousand years.

Then they heard Dale's voice as he made his way outside through the garage door. "Well you can breathe easy now. You're all done." He stood in the middle of his now mostly bare garage and turned around in a slow, surveying circle. He grinned nearly ear to ear. "I can't thank you all enough. It's been so long that I nearly forgot what the place looked like. Irma'll be so happy that we can park the cars in here now."

Andrea smiled at him tiredly. "It wasn't a problem, Dale. You know that. Anything for you two." Shane made a sound of agreement, and Daryl nodded.

A moment later Irma came outside carrying a tray with three tall glasses of lemonade on it. She was one of those old ladies with the poofy white hair that she probably still wrapped in curlers everything night. She had red cat-eye glasses perched on her nose that were attached to a silver chain, and was dressed in bright neon colors. You definitely wouldn't have been able to miss her in a crowd.

"Oh my goodness! Look at this!" she cried gleefully. "The three of you are such sweethearts!"

She bustled over to Shane and Andrea with her tray. Shane hauled himself to his feet, and then offered a hand to Andrea to help her up as well. This was the first time that Daryl had actually met the guy. He was a cop apparently, and Daryl had never really liked cops to begin with, and from the little they'd spoken that day, he couldn't say that he necessarily liked Shane either. Truth be told, he was kind of a dick. But he was good to Andrea from what he'd seen so far, and she always talked about him like he hung the moon, and that was all that really mattered.

They both accepted glasses of lemonade and took long sips. Irma patted Andrea's cheek lovingly. Andrea was the closest to Dale and Irma out of any of the others working at Sunshine, she'd been working there since she'd been old enough to have a cabbie's license after all, and they loved her like the daughter they'd never had. She seemed to return the sentiment. Irma and Dale had never been able to have a kid; they hadn't been able to get pregnant. And Andrea's only family had been her sister Amy, but she'd died when Andrea was a teenager. It was nice, Daryl thought, that they were all able to find a family for themselves in the wake of those personal tragedies.

Next, Irma made her way over to Daryl. She offered him his drink, and he chugged it greedily, the cold liquid running down his throat a welcome feeling in this heat. He finished the entire glass in one go, the ice cubes clinking against the bottom of the cup as he righted it and placed it back onto the tray.

"Oh, you sure were thirsty," she said with a laugh. Then she patted his arm, and he didn't even flinch or tense up. He liked this lady. She wasn't his mother, but she had a very motherly feel to her. It was just in her personality. "It was _so_ nice to finally meet you, Daryl."

"You too," he said, meaning it.

"I don't want you to be a stranger now. I want you coming by for dinner sometime soon. You can even bring your girlfriend if you like."

He narrowed his eyes, wondering what kind of shit Dale had been talking. "I don't have a girlfriend."

She frowned, but it looked more like a pout. "Handsome thing like you? I'm surprised. Well, either way, I want you over sometime soon. Oh! Maybe we can have everyone from the company over! Make it a family affair!" She grinned, and Daryl suspected that if she wasn't holding that tray she would have clapped her hands together in delight. She turned so she could call over to Dale. "How does that sound, honey?"

"What's that, dear?" He was looking around the garage still, and now Andrea and Shane had joined him.

"Having a family dinner soon."

He nodded. "Sounds fun. Maybe we could do a barbeque."

Her smile widened. "Yes! We can do it in a few weeks! Like an end of the summer bash!" She nodded her head excitedly. "Now let me go inside before my face melts off," she said referring to her makeup. "I have some planning to start!" She collected Shane and Andrea's glasses, and disappeared into the house, calling one final "Thanks, kids!" over her shoulder as she went.

When she was gone, Daryl walked over to where the rest of the group was standing.

"Alright, we're just gonna go drop this stuff at Good Will then," Shane was saying.

Dale nodded. "Good, good. And anything you want to keep, please feel free."

Andrea gave Dale a hug, and Shane shook his hand. Then they both made their way over to Shane's truck. Daryl was about to do the same, but then he caught sight of something sitting off against the wall. It hadn't been boxed up to go, but then again it wouldn't have been able to fit in a box anyway. Seeing it sitting there gave him an idea.

He looked over at Dale and tipped his head toward it. "How 'bout that? That included in the anything we want?"

Dale followed his gaze and grinned when he saw what Daryl was referring to. "I'm sure I could be convinced to part with it. It's not like I have much use for it anymore."

Daryl smiled.

From there, Daryl, Shane, and Andrea dropped off the boxes at Good Will. Then they headed to the bar to get a drink and relax. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

* * *

><p>"How is it that you're thirty-four years old and have never had a Belgian waffle?"<p>

Daryl shrugged. "I've had those Eggo things. Ain't they the same?"

Beth's eyes widened and she made a sort of horrified noise. Comparing the delectableness of Belgian waffles with toaster _Eggo waffles_? That was a _crime_. She scoffed like it had personally offended her, and placed the plate of fluffy goodness down in front of him with a _clank_ that sounded much more dramatic now than it actually was given his previous statement. She thrust the container of maple syrup that she was holding in her other hand at him. He placed his hand on it and gave her that look that she'd now become accustomed to that he did when he didn't quite understand her. The one where he'd squint his eyes and tip his head backward slightly and stare at her, like she was some kind of puzzle that he was trying to work out.

Since they'd embarked on their journey in friendship she'd been on the receiving end of that look quite a bit as he tried to figure her out. All she had to say about that was, _good luck_, because she was still having a hard time figuring herself out. But it both unsettled her and endeared her that he was trying so hard. Maybe more so on the unsettling part though.

It had been going well so far, she thought. But it was kind of strange, hanging out with someone again after spending so much time on her own. But a good strange. It hadn't been too exciting though, starting small and all. And now she had something else besides nature documentaries and late night conspiracy talk show radio to help and drown out the silence.

And with friendship came the beauty of favors, which she'd forgotten all about. For example, Daryl had gone and picked up the stuff that she needed to fix her tire, which was great, because while Wal-Mart may have been within biking distance from her apartment, she wasn't particularly looking forward to walking the three miles there and three miles back in this awful heat. So Daryl had volunteered himself and had gone and gotten the tire repair kit with his truck and his air conditioning — a patch and some glue, the hole hadn't been big and was an easy fix, thank god — and no one had had to suffer. See, favors and friends were nice like that.

Although, when he'd come back to her apartment with the stuff, she'd had a brief moment of panic after she buzzed him up. She'd looked around her living room, and was greeted with the sight of basically _nothing_. A tiny kitchen table, her beautiful-only-to-her couch, a coffee table, a TV, the broken bike, and a few dead plants (shit, she'd forgotten to water them again. Those post-it notes were good for nothing). Oh, and the post-it notes stuck everywhere reminding her to water the plants, which she had yet again failed to do. But she'd actually managed to put away her laundry so at least that was something (and by put away, she meant throw it all into her bedroom and shut the door, but whatever).

But now she was faced with a potential issue. She didn't want to see his face when he looked around her apartment and realized just how _empty_ her life was, because there was nothing here to suggest otherwise. She didn't want to see the pity. She didn't need that.

She'd briefly considered just wheeling the bike into the hallway and fixing it there, but that would've probably been rude. So instead she'd steeled herself and let him in when he knocked.

And much to her surprise, he hadn't said anything about her lack of stuff. He'd just walked in and said, "I got the shit," and plopped himself down on her couch, and started tearing into the packages. And then he'd paused, and his eyes focused on the sofa, and he'd said, "This is a nice couch."

And with that, she'd just smiled and sat down beside him, and began to look over the instructions.

And it was nice to have help trying to fix her tire. She'd have been able to do it on her own, it wasn't like it was a particularly hard task, but instead of having to fight with it for a few hours until she was able to figure it out, she'd had him there to assist her. But at the same time, it was also nice knowing that none of it was permanent. Because she had the foresight to not get used to any of it or to come and rely on him in any way, and that was important. It was _vital_. Because when it was time for them to part ways — in October when his brother got released, she'd learned — it would be a clean break. She was already prepared for it.

Back in the here and now, she nudged the plate closer to him. "Try _this_ and then try and compare it to an Eggo," she insisted.

He snorted like he didn't really see what the big deal was, and coated the crisp outside of the waffle in syrup. The he swiped his first forkful through the syrup on his plate and shoved it into his mouth for an exploratory bite. He chewed slowly for a moment, and then swallowed. He looked up at her.

"Well I'll be damned," he said, impressed. "Eggo ain't got shit on this." Then he went back for more immediately, shoveling another forkful into his mouth and making pleased noises as he chewed.

Beth smiled triumphantly. She always got an acute sense of pleasure from introducing Daryl to the finer things in life.

* * *

><p>Carol told Beth that she could leave early at around ten o' clock.<p>

This wasn't anything new. About three times a week Carol would tell Beth that she could leave early if she wanted, in an attempt at trying to get her to stop working so many extra hours, and Beth would always turn her down.

But this time she switched things up. When Carol offered, she agreed.

Daryl was still there, dragging his fork back and forth through the leftover syrup on his plate and making swirling designs. He was waiting until she got off so he could walk her home. That was their _thing_ now. (She couldn't even remember the last time that she'd had a _thing_ with anyone.) If she had the late shift and he'd gotten off of work already, then he would walk her home. She'd told him that it wasn't necessary, because she'd gotten her bike fixed and he shouldn't have to walk an hour on her account, and that she'd be fine. But he'd insisted. And she wasn't going to claim that being able to get home every night without having to keep her keys fisted between her fingers _just in case_ wasn't a good feeling.

So now, what'd they'd do was Beth (or Daryl if he was being extra stubborn that day) would walk Beth's bike. It was kind of annoying, having to walk a bike for a half an hour, but what were you going to do?

So tonight, instead of insisting that she could stay, Beth said thank you and started to take off her apron. To her credit, Carol looked surprised but didn't comment. She just schooled her face, smiled, and told Beth to get home safe. She did cast a brief look in Daryl's direction though, which Beth didn't miss.

Noah on the other hand was another story. Beth took Daryl's plate from him to be deposited into the sink in the kitchen, and he gave her a sort of put out look for stealing his masterpiece. But then Carol rang up his meal and distracted him because he had to pull his wallet out of his pocket to pay. Beth pushed into the kitchen using her hip, and Noah was in front of her almost immediately.

His eyes were bright with interest. "What are you doing?"

"Putting this plate in the sink and then leaving," she said ignoring the underlying question, and pushing past him toward the sink.

"You never leave when Carol offers," he reminded her.

"Well maybe tonight I wanna go home," she countered.

He smirked wickedly. "With Daryl."

Ignoring him, she put the plate and utensils into the sink and flipped on the water to rinse them off. She considered just washing them fully, but then decided that Noah could do that. Since he had to go and poke his nose into her business it seemed only fair.

He poked her in the side. "C'mon, you can admit it. C'mon. C'mon."

She thwacked his arm. "Stop it! You're just jealous 'cause I get to leave and you don't."

He sighed wistfully. "We _really_ need another cook around here. I can't wait until the new hire starts. Then maybe I can have my nights back." He shook his head, focusing back on Beth. "But no, don't distract me! We're talking about you."

She sighed, already tired of this conversation. "What about me? There's nothing to talk about."

He cut right to the chase. "You've been different lately."

She wiped her hands off on a rag. "Different how?"

"Well," he said, casting a look toward the window looking out on the dining room, "that guy for one. Daryl. He's been hanging around a lot, and you've been letting him. I haven't seen you spend time with anyone that didn't work here since you got here. I'm just wondering—" She caught sight of something over his shoulder.

"Your burgers are burning," she interrupted him.

He frowned. "What?" Then he sniffed once, and the smell of burning meat must have hit his nose because he spun around with lightning speed and darted toward the smoke starting to billow from the grill. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" he cried as he hastily grabbed a spatula and scooped up the charred thing that used to be a hamburger.

She took that opportunity to make her escape.

Daryl was already waiting for her by the door. She pulled on her white-knit sweater as she walked toward him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the kitchen where some smoke could still be seen pooling out of the window, and Noah could be heard cursing.

"Wasn't watching his burgers close enough," she told him with a shrug. He nodded once in understanding.

His finger was tapping at his front pants pocket, which was where Beth now knew that he kept his pack of cigarettes. It was a tick that he had when he was itching for a cigarette, and what do you know, once they were outside he pulled his pack of out his pocket and lit one.

She rounded the corner of the building to get her bike, and Daryl leaned against his truck to wait and smoke.

She thought back to her conversation with Noah. It wasn't like she hadn't expected her co-workers to notice. She went from not spending time with anyone, to spending a noticeable amount of time with Daryl in practically no time at all. She'd fully expected them to notice, and to give her crap about it, but so far no one had really pressed it besides him. But everyone wasn't Noah, and he was definitely going to ask about it again. She knew that she wasn't off the hook yet.

And then what would she say? How could she explain it in a way that he — or anyone else for that matter — would understand? _Oh, yeah, I'm hanging out with Daryl to remind myself that I'm still actually alive, and because he's leaving in three months so I won't get attached. _When she said it like that it just sounded crazy . . . and sad. Maybe it would be easier to just let them all think that they were dating.

She was still considering it when she rounded the corner out of the alley, and stopped dead in her tracks at what she saw. Daryl was leaning against his truck, but he'd put out his cigarette and was now standing beside a black bicycle. He was also trying really hard to keep his face passive and conceal his smile.

She tilted her head to the side, and tried to hide her own smile. "What's this?"

"Huh?" he asked, and glanced down at the bike like he hadn't seen it standing there before. "Oh, shit, where'd this come from? How convenient. Maybe I can ride this one, and we don't got to wheel yours."

She laughed and now she did smile. Then she walked over to get a better look. She popped the kickstand on her bike, and ran her fingers lightly over Daryl's. The paint was chipping, and it was kind of rusted, but other than that it looked good. "Where'd you get it?" she asked.

She was glad that he got a bike. It would make going places with him a lot easier since they wouldn't have to walk everywhere, but she didn't like the idea of him going out and buying it just because of her.

"I helped my boss and his wife clean out their garage. He had no use for it anymore, so he said I could have it." He shrugged. "I figured it'd be easier this way. Then you could get home quicker."

She smiled again. "Huh, look at you, Mr. Thinker." Then she thought of something, and looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "When's the last time you even rode a bike?"

The corner of his lip tugged up. "Not since I was a kid," he admitted.

She snorted, and mounted her bike. "Well then this should be fun."

And it was fun. They were riding and laughing, probably a lot louder than was appropriate at ten o' clock at night, and they made it back to her apartment in half the time that it usually took them which she appreciated. Daryl only almost toppled over like three times as he tried to remember how exactly you rode a bike, which Beth found hilarious, because how did that saying go that everyone always said? About how you never forgot how to ride a bike? Whatever it was, Daryl had never gotten the memo.

But then she was laughing at him so hard that she was distracted and rode over an uneven part of the sidewalk and _actually did_ topple over. Ungracefully. So, karma was real apparently.

She ended up sprawled on the concrete next to her bike, the tire still spinning beside her head. Her first thoughts were, _Really? We're only like five hundred feet away from my apartment. This really had to happen?_ She wasn't sure whether or not to laugh at herself, or try and hide in shame, but then she tried to get up and a sharp pain shot up her leg from her ankle and she decided on groaning in pain instead. She hissed and clenched her teeth together. _Well, that isn't good. _

Then Daryl was there and dropping down to his knees beside her. She heaved herself into a sitting position, placing her hands on the ground behind her to hold herself up.

"Shit," he breathed. "Are you alright?" And he just looked so concerned that Beth didn't even have it in her to feel embarrassed.

"I don't know," she answered. "I think something's up with my ankle."

He took her ankle in his hands gingerly, and the sheer amount of tenderness he exhibited surprised her because you wouldn't have expected it by looking at him. He examined it closely for a moment, looking it up and down and pressing his fingers into the skin softly. "Can you move it?" he asked.

She tried, and clenched her teeth in pain. "Yep," she confirmed. "But it hurts." _Like a bitch_, she added silently.

He nodded slowly, chewing on his lip and thinking. "You probably pulled something," he concluded.

"Is my bike okay?" She tried to look over her shoulder and check on it. She had _just_ gotten it back, the last thing that she needed was for it to be busted again. But honestly, that would probably be just her luck.

"The bike's fine," he said, catching her chin in his hand and turning her head back. "How about we worry about you right now. Can you stand?" She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. She went to take a step, and immediately faltered. He caught her, and then braced her against his side, wrapping an arm around her back for support. She snaked her arm over his shoulders. "Guess not," he said.

His face was contemplative for a moment, and then without warning he scooped her up into a bridal carry. She yelped in surprise, and quickly wrapped her other arm around his neck.

"What the hell! What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

He started walking toward her building. "Well you ain't walking on that ankle, and you need to get back to your apartment one way or another. This just seems like the most logical way."

"I can walk," she protested. "I just need some help."

He grinned. "Then we'd be here all night."

"What's the problem with that? You got somewhere to be?" she shot back jokingly.

He shook his head, still smiling. "Quit complaining and just be grateful. You might be heavier than you look, but you ain't that heavy. Ain't no sweat off my back."

She shrugged, but it was kind of ruined by the fact that she was being held against his chest. "Suit yourself," she said. In all honesty, she was grateful. She wasn't actually sure if she'd be able to walk on it. She was just being stubborn. (What else was new?) She looked over his shoulder at her poor bike lying on the concrete all alone. Well, Daryl's bike was there too. "What about my bike?"

'I'll come back for it," he said simply.

He carried her up to her building's door, and she pulled her keys out of her bag and unlocked it from his arms. Then he carried her over the threshold. When they got to the stairs he put her down for a moment. He turned around and offered his back. "Hop up," he instructed.

She furrowed her brow. "What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, it's a serious piggy back. What's it look like?"

She pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. Then she gestured down the hall. "There's an elevator over there."

He waved her off. "This is faster. Then we don't gotta wait for it." He motioned for her to jump up again.

"I live on the fourth floor, remember?" she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. "Just hop up."

"Suit yourself," she said again, and did as he asked. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he hitched his hands under her thighs.

He was able to make it the first two flights of stairs without incident, but once the third flight came into view he groaned. Beth laughed. "Should have taken the elevator."

"Shut up," he huffed, sounding a little out of breath.

By the fourth flight he was really out of breath. "I take it back," he wheezed. "You are heavy. Why do you have to live so high up?"

"Elevator," she replied in a singsong voice.

Finally they made it to her door, and she hopped down off of his back and unlocked it. Then he helped her to the couch, and got her some ice from the ice tray in the freezer — the only thing that she had in there besides some long freezer burnt ice cream — to put on her ankle. She'd propped her foot up on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then he went off to retrieve her bike.

"Take the elevator this time!" she called after him, and she heard him grumble in annoyance as he shut the door behind him, which made her smile.

He was back five minutes later, propping the bike against its kickstand. She gave it a once over from where she was on the couch. There wasn't any visible damage, thankfully.

"You want some Advil or something?" he asked. She nodded, and he retrieved that and a glass of water for her.

"Thank you," she said when he handed her both things. She popped two pills in her mouth, and took a long sip of the water. "Really, thank you. That was really nice of you."

He shrugged and waved her off. "It was nothing."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Just take the damn compliment, Dixon."

He smirked. "Alright, fine. You're welcome."

She smiled at him and patted his arm. "You're a good friend, Daryl Dixon," she told him.

Something unreadable passed over his face, and he held her gaze for a long moment. Then he ducked his head. "Yeah, you too, Greene."

He left her a few minutes later set up on the couch with a bag of ice on her ankle, and the National Geographic channel playing on the TV.

**AN: I'm back in the swing of things with writing, and I've got chapter notes for the next one already written. But I feel like I should just let you all know that I just went back to school last week, so if the updates get slow again that's why. I don't want to let that happen, but just in case.**

**Anyway, the show comes back tomorrow night, and I'm like honestly dreading it. I don't think I'm gonna watch live because I don't know if I'll be able to handle it lol. So good luck with that everybody! Stay strong!**

**And, thanks again to all of you! I love hearing from you guys. It makes what I do even more fun. (:**


	9. nine

Zach squinted at Daryl, giving him a look that was both pensive and doubtful. He stared at him for a few seconds and then said, "Man, are you sure?"

"Mhm," Daryl hummed, lifting his cup of coffee to his lips so that he could take a sip. He kept his eyes on Zach over the brim of the mug as he did, never breaking eye contact.

Zach shook his head unconvinced. "I don't know. I'm not buying it. You just don't look like the type."

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "The type to drive a cab for a living?" He placed the mug back down on the counter, and then lifted a finger to rest on his chin. "What exactly does that type of person look like?" he asked.

Much like Eugene had become a staple at the counter of the Wayside — which was where he was now, tapping away on his computer like always, pretty much oblivious to everything going on around him — over the past few weeks since Daryl had been coming in, he'd already begun to carve out a place there for himself as well. And everyone seemed to be responding well to this new development too. Well, everyone except Zach, that is.

Zach, who was currently in the midst of interrogating Daryl; because for some reason unbeknownst to Beth, or to anyone else for that matter, he refused to believe that Daryl actually drove a cab as his job. Don't ask her why, she thought it was strange too. But at least he was actually talking to her again, and they seemed to be back on good terms. That was good . . . in theory.

It had started when Daryl had come in to get dinner after his shift had ended. Zach had asked Daryl what exactly it was that he did, and when Daryl had told him he'd had gotten this _look_ in his eye. Then he'd looked at Beth with a face that said _'don't worry, I'll get to the bottom of this'_, and now here they were nearly ten minutes later and he still hadn't dropped it. She'd tried to give him a look back that conveyed just how much that it wasn't necessary for him to do that, but he obviously hadn't understood. For whatever reason, he was feeling the need to vet Daryl's character on her behalf.

And of course, Noah was enjoying the hell out of it. The others were too, but mostly Noah. Beth even had to admit that it was pretty entertaining, watching Zach play detective. They were all sitting and standing around the counter in a brief lull in service, even Carol, so it wasn't like anything else was really going on. All of the tables had already been taken care of, or they were just waiting on their orders to be ready. So now Noah was cooking, and the rest of them were all pretty much just listening to Zach as he tried to get to the bottom of his own fantastical imagination.

Zach thought over Daryl's question for a moment. He seemed to really be considering it, what exactly a taxi driver looked like. "I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "Not you though."

"My cab's usually sitting right out there on the curb. Given, it ain't here now, but I bet you've seen it there before. I don't know what else kinda proof that you need."

"It could be a cover!" he insisted.

"Oh Zach, just leave him alone," Rosita scolded.

"Yeah," Tara agreed, "what exactly is it that you think he does?"

Zach tapped at his chin in contemplation. "Cop," he answered with certainty.

Beth had to hide a grin behind her hand. She saw a flash of amusement on Daryl's face as well, but only because she knew it well enough by now to be able to catch it. None of the others would have been able to tell.

"Undercover," Zach added. And he smiled like he was really damn sure of himself. "I think you're a cop working undercover." Then he leaned in a little closer toward Daryl, and lowered his voice. "You can tell me, man. I'd keep it on the DL."

Daryl leaned back, and studied him closely for a moment. Then he started nodding. "Alright," he said with an air of resignation, bringing his hands up to rest on the countertop. "You got me. You're right, I'm working undercover."

Zach's mouth kind of dropped open. "Shut up! Really? I was right?" Beth was astounded that he was actually buying this. He was literally the only one who didn't realize that Daryl was messing with him.

Daryl nodded gravely. Then he leaned in closer to him to speak conspiratorially. "Yeah. I'm working on trying to bust a drug ring originating from _this diner_." His pointed finger stabbed at the counter twice for emphasis. Zach's eyes widened, and Daryl went on, "And my suspect, he's 'bout eighteen, scrawny, shaggy mop of hair. You wouldn't happen to know anyone matching that description, would you?"

For a moment, Zach turned white as a sheet. His mouth opened and closed a few times much akin to a fish, but then he noticed how everyone around him was pretty much trying and failing to conceal snickers, and he finally caught on to the joke. He snapped his mouth shut and scowled at them. Then he grabbed his tub. "Not cool, man," he groused, and moved across the diner to pretend to bus a table and nurse he wounded pride.

Beth pushed Daryl's shoulder playfully. "You're so mean," she said in between a laugh.

He grinned at her. "I couldn't help it. Kid was practically begging for it."

Carol chuckled along with everyone else, but then she pointed at Daryl with a stern finger. "Don't you go around telling people that my diner is the home of a drug ring!"

Daryl had the sense to look apologetic. "Sorry. Won't happen again."

She smiled at him and shook her head. She really loved playing the strict boss, and then turning it on a dime. Beth figured it was most likely her favorite hobby. "It's alright," she said. "Have you always driven a cab?"

He shook his head. "Nope, but I've done just about every menial labor job there is. I was a convenience store clerk, gas station attendant, a busboy when I was younger, janitor, even a garbage man for a little while. You know, those types of jobs. Things that don't require a lot of training or knowhow. If anything, a cabbie's step up for me. Had to pay a fee to get a special license and everything."

Beth hadn't known any of that. She'd never thought to ask.

Carol nodded thoughtfully. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. We need those types of people in this world."

"Damn straight," he said, and took another sip of his coffee. For a moment, Beth was kind of jealous. He seemed to have things figured out for himself, even if he didn't stay in one place for too long. He had an idea of what he was doing with himself. She was practically cemented where she was, and she could barely even keep her head above water. She'd pick his life over hers any day.

Carol blinked like she'd just remembered something important. "Oh, Noah, by the way, I picked a new cook." Then a grin spread across her face. "She's gonna be starting next week, so enjoy your last weekend of doubles."

Noah's eyes widened. "Shit, are you serious?!"

Carol nodded, her grin widening. "Sure am. Her name's Michonne. She's gonna be taking over the night shift."

Noah pumped at the air excitedly. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Carol I love you! If I wasn't behind this wall I would kiss you."

She laughed. "That won't be necessary." Noah continued to dance as he manned the grill, doing little spins and shakes in between flipping burgers.

The bell above the door dinged, signaling that someone had just entered the diner. Rosita stood up and straightened her uniform. "That's my cue," she said.

Then she turned and caught sight of Abraham standing in the doorway. He was wearing his uniform, but he was without Rick, which was unusual. But the thing that was even more unusual was that he was also holding a single red rose.

Beth saw Rosita inhale sharply. She stood frozen for a moment as if she was contemplating her next move, but then she took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders, and sauntered over to him. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but Abraham smiled widely and opened his mouth to speak. She really wished that she had super-sensitive hearing.

Daryl touched her arm lightly, and Beth was forced to tear her eyes away from Rosita just as Abraham was holding out the rose to her.

"Hm?" she asked.

He held up his coffee mug. "Can I get a refill?" he asked.

She nodded, and took the mug for him to fill it up. Her eyes drifted back over to Rosita and Abraham as she handed Daryl back the mug just in time to see Rosita shaking her head slowly and Abraham nodding sadly. She was now holding the rose, and she tried to hand it back to him, but he held a hand up refusing to take it. Then he left, and Rosita stood there for a moment staring after him. When she turned to walk back over to them, Beth averted her eyes not wanting to be caught staring. But she did see her stop at the garbage can and look at the rose thoughtfully for a moment before throwing it away.

And Beth hadn't been the only one to notice either.

"What was that all about?" Tara asked as Rosita came to reclaim her spot leaning against the counter.

Rosita didn't answer her question, and her face gave away no emotion. "We're going out tonight," she announced instead. "I wanna get drunk."

Tara didn't press the Abraham issue. "Sweet!" she cried. She turned to Eugene. "You aren't working tonight, right?"

"Negative," he answered.

She clapped her hands together. "Okay, good, then both of us are in."

"Me too," Noah said. Then he dinged the bell sitting on the windowsill and put two plates down. "Order up, Beth! Table seven."

Beth rolled her eyes as she walked over to retrieve the plates. "I'm right here. You know that you don't have to do that."

He grinned. "I know. I just like dinging the bell."

She merely shook her head at him, and walked away to give her table their orders. Her ankle throbbed as she made her way across the diner. It didn't so much hurt to walk on anymore as it did ache. She'd definitely pulled something in it. It had been two days since she wiped out on her bike, and it was slowly but surely getting better.

She'd woken up the morning after her tumble to the dinging of her cellphone, still on the couch. She'd slept in an awkward position, so on top of the ankle thing she'd also had to deal with an unpleasant crick in her neck. The dinging had been a text from Daryl asking her how her ankle was feeling, which had made her smile and made the pain in her neck and ankle slightly for bearable for a moment. But only for a moment because It had hurt like a bitch to walk around on at first. She'd nearly wanted the cry as she got herself ready in the morning, but it hadn't lasted long. By the time she had rode her bike to the diner, she guessed that she must have stretched it out because the pain had begun to fade. It was nothing more than a dull ache now. She suspected she'd be good as new in a few days.

Thinking that she could leave Daryl alone with them had been her first mistake.

She heard it just as she was delivering the food to table seven: Tara's voice.

"So, Daryl, are you doing anything tonight?"

"Nah," Beth heard him answer. And she knew what was coming next; she could feel it deep in the pit of her stomach, the threat beginning to rise like bile. And her mind was saying _shit, shit, shit_. But she didn't react fast enough, and that was her second mistake. Not warning poor, unsuspecting Daryl about the vultures that she called her coworkers—preying on the weak and unknowing.

"Then you and Beth should come out with us," Tara said casually.

She watched helpless as he shrugged and said, "Okay, sure." And there it was. The final blow. The outcome to her fatal mistakes. It was all over. There was nothing that she could do.

She felt like she could spontaneously combust at any moment, but she walked back to them slowly and calmly; because she _wasn't_ about to go over there and freak out like a crazy person. She was a reasonable and cool-headed adult, and even in the face of disaster she was going to act reasonably and calmly.

Rosita smiled at her brightly. "How's that sound, Beth? All of us going out for drinks after closing?" Then she paused. "Well, except Zach, because he's the diner baby."

Zach had stopped hiding and had reappeared at the counter. He sighed. "I don't know why you guys can't ever go bowling or something. And I'm not the diner baby, Carl is."

Tara patted his shoulder. "It'll always be you, bud."

He glared at them all again and trudged into the kitchen, grumbling something about how he couldn't wait until he turned twenty-one so he could go out drinking with them. Beth watched him go, feeling kind of bad for him. But then Rosita fixed her with a look and said, "So, is that okay, Beth? You're gonna come out with us tonight?" And she remembered to feel bad for herself again.

In reality, Zach was the lucky one here. He had a real excuse for not going on these excursions. She wished that she was still under twenty-one. (Well, really she just wished that she could invent a time machine and go back in time to before she turned nineteen when things were still _good_, but she knew that that was impossible. Because good things didn't happen to her anymore. But that was off topic.)

She smiled tightly. "Sounds great." Because she wasn't about to refuse like an asshole. She was going to suck it up like an _adult_. And, she also made a mental note to let Daryl know later that he wasn't to fall victim to such schemes anymore. It wasn't his fault this time. They'd targeted the naïve. But it wouldn't be happening again, that was for damn certain.

All three of them — Tara, Rosita, and Noah — all shared equal expressions of part shock, part surprise that she'd agreed, which made her want to grind her teeth. Why even bother asking? They knew that she didn't want to go. Noah recovered first.

"Awesome," he said. "We're finally hiring a new cook, _and_ Beth is coming out with us? Best day ever!"

"In that case, we can go to The Shamrock since it's around the corner from your apartment. That way your drunk-ass doesn't have to stumble home to far," Tara said with a grin.

"I'm working the morning shift tomorrow. I'm not gonna be drinking, and I probably won't stay long either," Beth said with certainty. Tara waved her off.

Rosita laughed. "Yeah, so am I, but that's never stopped me before. C'mon, it's a _Friday_." And Beth didn't doubt that, because Rosita was perfection personified. The alcohol probably burned out of her system so quickly that it doesn't even affect her that same way as everybody else.

But even if she wasn't working tomorrow she still wouldn't be drinking, because she didn't do that anymore. Everything that she was trying to keep buried during the day found it much easier to wiggle its way out into the open with the help of alcohol.

Rosita went on, "But thank god for Daryl, seriously. Otherwise we never would have got you to come." She turned her attention to him. "She always turned us down before you. So, I like you. You can stay."

"Ha ha," Beth replied dryly.

Daryl looked up at her. "Was I not supposed to agree?" he said quietly, speaking only to her.

She shrugged halfheartedly. There was no reason to make him feel guilty about it. "It's fine," she told him. And in some ways it was. They were always going to find a way to rope her in one way or another. She would just have to take precautions so that it never happened again.

* * *

><p>Carol closed the diner at eleven thirty instead of midnight that night. They all parted ways and went home to change out of their uniforms. (Except Zach who was pouting in full force as they separated. Beth wanted to shake him and scream "Stop complaining you lucky bastard!" in his face. But she didn't. Because like she'd said earlier, she was an <em>adult<em>.)

Beth didn't bother showering when she got back to her apartment. She may or may not have smelt like sweat and diner food, but she was only going to be there for like a half an hour anyway before coming back and going to bed. There wasn't much of a point. It was already midnight, and even if it was Friday, she still had to be up early the next morning. She was already going to miss out on her four hours at this point, which was unfortunate.

Tara and Noah weren't working until the afternoon the next day, and even Daryl had a later shift, so it was only her and Rosita that had to be up early. Which, honestly, how unfair was that? She stowed the rest of her complaining and trudged into her room to change.

She was still in the bathroom fixing her makeup when Daryl pressed the buzzer. Thinking back, he hadn't even asked why it was that she usually refused to go out with them. He never asked for more than she was willing to give. She really liked that about him. It was a good quality to have in a temporary-friend.

She ran over to buzz him up, and then immediately retreated back into the bathroom where she was attempted to apply makeup. She'd almost forgone it completely, but she figured that she should at least make _some_ sort of effort. She had the TV on functioning as background noise. The national geographic was currently playing a special about vultures and other birds of prey.

She had her elbow practically hot glued to the counter as she tried to perfect her eyeliner when she heard a knock on her front door open.

"It's open!" she called. She heard the door open, and then shut again.

She heard him as he moved further into the apartment. "Beth?" Daryl called.

"In here!" she answered. "I'm putting on makeup, and that requires my full concentration, so just make yourself comfortable." She could practically hear the confused expression that he was now undoubtedly wearing. But he didn't comment, and a moment later she heard the couch creak as he sat down.

She focused her full attention back onto the task at hand. Putting on eyeliner, especially if she wanted to be fancy and attempt a wing, was always a game of chance. It could either come out looking fantastic, or like some kid who still was learning how to color in the lines had a field day on her eyes. There was no in between.

She didn't really bother with makeup much of the time anymore, but when she did it more often than not it ended up being a smudged mess that she wound up having to wipe off anyway. That was why she had to focus. It was go time. She was in the zone.

Ten minutes and a lot of internal monologue that involved cursing and condemning anyone who was able to actually do this with skill and ease — she'd seen those makeup tutorials online, she knew those people existed — later she emerged from the bathroom, eyeliner blessedly intact. She'd refrained from trying to add on the wings. They just didn't have that kind of time.

Daryl was so caught up in the documentary on the TV that he didn't even notice that she'd entered the room until she was dropping down onto the couch next to them and sighing deeply. He looked nice, she thought. He was wearing a flannel devoid of any holes or mysterious stains, and a pair of jeans that didn't look as worn as the ones he usually sported. Nothing fancy, but nevertheless, nice.

He looked over at her surprised. "Oh, hey," he greeted her. Then his gaze moved up and down her body, taking in her appearance. His eyes went kind of wide as he took her in. She might have seen him swallow too. "You, uh, you look nice."

She smiled tiredly, and patted his knee. "Well you don't clean up so bad yourself," she said.

Then she dropped her head onto the back of the couch and shut her eyes. She sighed again. She could feel him staring at her.

"We don't have to go if you don't want to," he said after a few moments. "We can just stay in and watch whatever the hell this is that you've got playing." He gestured with his hand toward the TV.

She cracked an eye open and looked at him. He was giving her an out. She could take it if she wanted to. But she didn't.

"No. You know what, its fine," she said. "Really."

She was twenty-one years old, almost twenty-two. This was the kind of stuff that she was _supposed_ to be doing. She was _supposed_ to be going out with friends at late hours of the night when she knew damn well that she had obligations the next day. She was _supposed_ to want to have fun. If she was going to do this _living_ thing when it came to hanging out with Daryl, then she might as well go all in for one night. Like she kept telling herself, it was only temporary. Then later she could retreat back into her bubble of safety, and think that it was fun while it lasted.

"Besides," she went on, "it'll probably be less painful if we just go and get it over with. Then maybe they'll stop nagging me so much."

"Well," he said standing up and offering her a hand. She took it and let herself be pulled to her feet. "Let's get it over with then."

* * *

><p>She'd be lying if she said that she hadn't gone already expecting to have a bad time. She'd psyched herself up, yeah, but she still hadn't expected to enjoy herself. If anything, she was looking at going like it was a job, and the social gathering with her coworkers was a quota that needed to be filled. A moral obligation that she, a young adult, had to fulfil.<p>

As it turned out though, she'd been wrong.

They'd gotten there after the others, and they'd saved them seats at the bar. Rosita had glared at anyone that had even dared to _look_ at the empty stools. She was scary when she needed to be.

Beth's plan had been to not drink. In fact, she was steadfastly set on not drinking, because she knew that she had to be getting up for work in a five hours, and for other more deep seeded emotional issues, but that had gone down the tubes once her and Daryl walked in and Tara pressed a drink into her hand.

She finished that one, and another, and another, and suddenly she was having a great time. In her drunken state she was horrified that she'd never done this before. They just sat drinking and talking and joking and just laughing, and this had been exactly what she could have used when she was trying to fill the quiet. Why hadn't she done this sooner? Plus, she realized that she actually liked these people. Well, she already knew that she liked them, but she was talking about actually liking people more than just having to put up with them within the confines of their place of work. (Sober her wouldn't be pleased by this development.) And Daryl seemed to be fitting in well, which was good. She was happy he didn't feel uncomfortable. He seemed to be getting on well with Tara of all people. She'd have figured that their personalities would have clashed unfavorably, but apparently not.

She was having such a good time, that by the time that she had to leave she didn't want to. In fact, that time came and went, and twelve thirty turned into one, which turned into two, and then the last time she looked at the time it was nearly two thirty. (She had to be awake at five.)

She couldn't tell you how, but somehow she was able to make it back to her apartment and into her bed. Her last, hazy memories before she closed her eyes were her head hitting the pillow, her shoes being taken off, a blanket being pulled over her, and her bedroom light being flicked off.

* * *

><p>Someone was nudging her shoulder and saying her name, and she really wanted them to not be doing that. She groaned and rolled away from the touch of whoever the hell it was, and instantly regretted it. The jostling of her body caused her to wake up enough to feel the splitting pain that was overwhelming her head. Was it possible to be drunk and hung over at the same time? Because if it was, then that would be how she would describe the state that she was currently in.<p>

"Beth," the voice said again. Now her back was being poked at. "Beth, you gotta get up."

She groaned angrily, and cracked an eye open. The voice belonged to Daryl. He was in her bedroom standing over her, and now she was both confused and annoyed. (This was her bedroom right? And a look quick glance around confirmed that it was.) And she had a headache and dry throat on top of that.

"Why is it dark?" she complained, pulling her blanket over her head.

"Because it's five in the morning."

_Ugh_. "Five more minutes," she complained.

"You gotta get up for work. I told you were gonna hate yourself in the morning, but you didn't want to leave. I practically had to drag you out." Well, she didn't remember that. He went on, "I let you sleep as long as possible for you to still be able to get to work on time. Unless you want a ride, then you can sleep a little later." She could _hear_ his amused grin.

And for a moment, she really considered taking him up on that ride, but ultimately she forced her eyes to open. And, yep, he was grinning at her. Smug bastard.

She rubbed at her eyes, and struggled to sit up. When she had finally gotten herself into a sitting position, Daryl handed her a glass of water that he had been holding, and two Advil. So maybe he could live. She took them and smiled at him gratefully. Only a small smile though, moving too many of her face muscles at once hurt. The water was both painful and soothing going down her throat. She finished off the glass and handed him back the empty cup.

Then she squinted at him. "Why are you here?" she asked. And she really couldn't remember much of anything. Damn, she was really out of practice when it came to drinking. What a lightweight.

He moved across the room and flipped on the lights. She hissed at the sudden brightness. Nope, she took it back. He had to die. His amused smile was back, and he was clearly enjoying her pain way more than he should have been.

"I got you home and got you into bed. Then I slept on the couch because I wanted to make sure you didn't die during the night and that you got up for work in the morning." He shrugged. "Hope that was okay."

"Oh," Beth said. And she nodded, because yes that was okay. That was . . . she didn't know. Thoughtful? Considerate? She didn't know how to respond because it had been so long since someone had gone out of their way to do something for her; so long since she'd let someone do that. Given, she'd been drunk, but even drunk Beth probably had enough sense to tell Daryl to leave if she hadn't wanted him there. So she didn't say anything else, because she didn't really know what else to say to that. Just, _oh_. And she left it at that.

She changed the subject. "Why are you all smiles and not miserable like me?" she asked accusingly.

That just makes him grin broader. "I didn't drink. One of us had to be the responsible one."

She very maturely stuck her tongue out at him — before the _oh_ could start nudging at her again — and he laughed. Then he walked back over to her and yanked the blanket off of her. She tried futilely to snatch it up into her arms, but she was too slow. He threw it down into a heap on the floor, and she stared at it wistfully.

"Alright, Sleeping Beauty, you gotta get ready now. I went to start a pot of coffee, but apparently you don't keep food or anything in this place."

She shrugged weakly as she got out of bed. "I eat for free at work, and I'm there pretty much every day. I have no reason to keep it here too." He accepted that as logical, which only surprised her a little bit.

"Alright, no more dicking around. Let's go," he said and pulled at her ankle. She kicked him off playfully. Then, begrudgingly, she got up.

She got ready for work with mild complaining. Daryl stuck around while she did even though she told him that he could go, and then they made their way outside together. The sun was just starting to peak up above the horizon. They made plans to see each other later, and then she rode away on her bike, and he got into his truck and drove back to his apartment so he could go back to sleep before his shift later. The bastard.

She rode to work not realizing that that _oh_ was borrowing itself deep down into her very core. She didn't realize it at the time, but this was when things began to shift.

* * *

><p>Beth had to pump like three cups of coffee into herself when she got to work before she was even halfway functioning.<p>

And of course, Rosita was fine. Especially for someone who usually loathed the morning shift. She walked in smiling brightly, and carrying a red bull. She apparently hadn't even bothered going home last night, and had come straight there from the bar. She'd stopped drinking early though, so she was sober at least.

After that, Beth's work day was more or less uneventful. Except for the fact that she may or may have fallen asleep propped up against the wall at one point. And then the counter at another point. And then Bob might have had to sing extra loud to keep her awake.

When Noah came in to relieve Bob, Beth was sitting slumped over at the counter taking a breather. He came up behind her, squeezed her shoulders, and shook her lightly.

"Last night, Greene! Last night!" he practically yelled right into her ear. Or maybe he'd spoken them regularly and it had just sounded like yelling. Those Advil's that Daryl had given her hadn't done shit. Her head was pounding. "See what you've been missing! Don't you wish you would have come with us sooner?"

She smiled, because in spite of everything, she almost felt like saying yes.

**AN: So, I'm starting another story. It already has plot notes, and a rough draft of the first chapter is written. How do you guys feel about a Disney workers AU? (: The first chapter should be up this weekend. **

**Thanks again for all the love on this story! It really means a lot to me. **


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